


Dorian Pavus: A Man of the Complicated Sort

by LordWoolsley



Series: Dorian Pavus: A Man who Cares Deeply About Everything While Denying that He Does [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3690930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordWoolsley/pseuds/LordWoolsley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I came here...” Dorian swallowed, with a nervousness that he was usually much better at hiding, “I came here seeking political asylum.” </p><p>Maxwell visibly tensed, and his façade of restraint visibly cracked, if only a little and only for a small instant, “Dorian, what have you done?”<br/>____________________________________________________________________________________________________________</p><p>Dorian's return to Skyhold a half-decade after leaving it under less than ideal circumstances felt less like a homecoming, and more like a slap in the face-especially the part that involved having to show up on the Inquisitor's doorstep a hunted fugitive. The fact that Maxwell could have possibly fallen in love with someone else was just the glacé cherry on top of the terrible mess that had become his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dorian Pavus and the Pain of Returning

“ _Doom upon all the world._ ” Dorian had meant to whisper that particular line-but really, the deeply conflicting senses of fear and anticipation, and a strange elation that struck him upon catching sight of Skyhold, large and imposing on the horizon left him more than a little disorientated. The odd looks he received from his motley traveling companions did nothing to assuage him, either.

“I think he's finally cracked.” she said, like she had been waiting for it to happen.

Dorian suppressed a sigh. Is this what one got for being a good person? For the life of him, he wanted to toss the elf right off the cart. And maybe down the mountain too. Maybe he'd toss himself off the mountain too, while he was at it. He would avoid the inevitable doom that awaited him in Skyhold.

“I am quite alright, Alis, I assure you.” He didn't mean to sound so strained either.

“No, no he's definitely lost his mind-about to go on some religious frenzy. I, for one, think we should toss him.” said she, the elf casting significant looks at the Tal-Vashoth maneuvering the cart-and Dorian could have sworn that the ox bastard had sniggered.

 _Kaffas_ , he hated that stupid elf bastard, on the assumption that he could call a woman a bastard. He wanted to call her names, like an irritable child, _'Alis, your lack of bathing and comically large hair make you look like a startled toilet brush.'_ or similarly scathing, _'Alis, your comically large hair is yellow and piss is also yellow.'_ His mouth curled into a smile at his own cleverness, and he  _immediately_ felt ashamed.

The lack of bathing was getting to him too it seemed, _'piss is also yellow'_ , Varric would have shed actual storyteller tears at his lack of wit. That's what he got for being a good person and saving Alis from imprisonment.

Or maybe it was because he was a bad person, and the Maker was punishing him, he wondered. Maybe he was being punished for that one time he accidentally-on-purpose dropped the Divine Galatea's autobiography on Solas' head.

It was an accident. He was aiming for the foot. The man was being a self-righteous bastard. He had it coming.

And now, here he was, suffering because of an elf. A stupid, annoying, and all those other descriptors he couldn't think of properly at the moment because of _Skyhold on the horizon_.

“He has proven to be a true ally so far, elf.” Said the saarebas.

“Saar, if he starts quoting scripture and shooting fireballs out of his ass, _I'm tossing him._ ” Oh yes, Saar was definitely laughing now. Dorian grasped his own beard in displeasure. He had no idea why he did so, it not help him in any way whatsoever. Yet it seemed oddly appropriate.

This is what he would do from now on when he was displeased. He would grasp his own beard and, and he was rambling in his own mind, which was technically like talking to yourself-and he felt sick to his very core, because Skyhold was less and less on the horizon and more and more...well, _closer_.

It was _more and more close_ r, yes. More clever wordplay from one Dorian Pavus.

“Why are you quoting scripture, Tevinter?” He did not miss the tentative edge to Saar's words. It was because the entirety of the exposure he had had to the Qunari and the Tal-Vashoth and all of those other lovely oxen things were from the Iron Bull, and Bull was a spy, a self-assured spy who also happened to not know the meaning of 'tentative'.

Saar was a mage, horns shorn down to stumps and shoulders always hunched after a lifetime of chains. He did everything tentatively. Dorian didn't blame him for being so cautious, he was the enemy after all, or had been. Alis and himself called him Saar because well, the were extremely un-clever and unimaginative that way, simply too lazy to think of any other name. Too lazy or too exhausted. One of the two.

“ _'Doom upon all the world'_ seemed appropriate to my current state, you see. My parting from this place and the Inquisitor was not… a pleasant one.” He was glad that the Tal-Vashoth simply nodded and returned his attention to the road.

Alis, on the other hand? Alis was like the blight upon Dorian's patience, that is, not satisfied until she had consumed all of his will, and then his soul, maybe, until he was nothing but the shrivelled up husk of his former self.

“Love 'em and leave 'em, eh Pavus?” Dorian was overcome with a sudden lust for unleashing a few fireballs at her. Out of his ass, too, for that extra bit of dramatic flair. Yes, throw a fireballs at her. He could set her comically large piss hair on fire.

But he did none of those things, because irritated as he might be, he was also simply drained of mana and energy. He'd forgotten the last time he'd slept properly. His hands were too cold to even move, and all irritations aside, Alis looked two breaths away from snapping in half as it was. Food was scarce while running for your life. Especially on a mountain range.

Besides, he was certain that there would be enough fireball-shooting waiting for him at Skyhold. Maybe even punching. Of the face variety, because Dorian had a pretty face, soft to the punch. Was Maxwell the face-punching type? He barely remembered. Five years was a long time. Plenty of time for Maxwell to develop face-punching tendencies...plenty of time for grudges and resentments to grow...plenty of time for those things to transform into an ugly hatred.

Not that he didn't deserve it, after the way he left things. All the others, Varric, Bull-Cassandra and Sera...and...and... They would undoubtedly take their Inquisitor's side on the matter. They absolutely would, because they loved the man, like Dorian had once. Had once. Still did. Maybe always will. He hated returning in these circumstances. He had envisioned-when he dared to, that it would be easy, and it would involve less filth and fear. But there was nothing he could do now.

If he had to endure hatred from the Inquisitor's circle, then he would grit his teeth and endure it. If he had to grit his teeth and endure the sneering and resentment from the Inquisitor as well, the he would. It would be considerably more difficult to brush off, but he would. He would, of course, be completely alone-but that was not new for him. He enjoyed pariah-hood. All he had to do until then was wait, and he _hated_ waiting.

“What're you so glum about? He'll forgive you, Pavus. Just bat your eyelashes at him or something. Just lay off all the _'doom upon my ass'_ shit and you'll be fine.” Alis, to her credit, had her moments of not being a complete ass, she did try to comfort him, in her way-so Dorian offered her a smile.

“I am being rather melodramatic, aren't I? I'll take your eyelash batting advice into consideration, Alis.” The elf returned his smile.

Skyhold, however was foreboding, and not nearly as friendly once they got there. But there really was no turning back now. 

* * *

 


	2. Dorian Pavus of No House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Altus. To what do I owe this pleasure?” 
> 
> Dorian licked his dry lips. The words were not coming, and the inadequacy of his circumstance was overwhelming.  
> “Actually, Inquisitor, it's Magister Pavus now-a rather shocking turn of events, yes? I would be happy to tell you all the gory details once I am more presentable.”

“Commander Cullen-I tried to stop this man but he insisted-” the guard had his grubby guard hands clasped over Dorian's wrist, and in all honesty it hurt. The man, much shorter than him had managed to keep up with him all the way from the gates to the main hall.

Much to his relief, Cullen was there.

 _Also_ , the dear Commander now sported-Cullen had grown a _beard_. He was surprised really, he expected changes to have occurred in five years but not in that kind of drastic fashion. In Dorian's humble opinion, the Commander had to be made to forcibly remove it, for his own good. Maybe he could ask the Inquisitor to issue a formal mandate. Maxwell was a kind and generous soul, in that way.

Unless he decided to pulverise Dorian on sight for daring to show himself at Skyhold again after all this time. Then, of course Cullen would still have that beard and all the world would suffer.

Although, in all fairness, Dorian himself did look he'd bathed in every trash heap from Minrathous to Skyhold. He would never have allowed himself to degrade to such a circumstance, but constantly running for his life proved to be _just_ a tad more pressing than shampoo.

“Commander Cullen-I insist that this man unhand me this instant. Is that how guests are treated at Skyhold now? I can see that my absence ha-” Cullen's eyes focused on something behind the guard-and before he even turned, Dorian knew, he just knew that it would be Maxwell.

Of course he had to see him before he could clean himself up and look even _remotely_ presentable.

“Guardsman, unhand Altus Pavus, would you? And inform the quartermaster that Altus Pavus' old rooms need to be readied.” the Inquisitor said.

Maxwell was just as tall and handsome as Dorian remembered him to be, too. No beard though-not that he needed one, unlike Dorian who like a barely pubescent boy without facial hair-and he's even managed to rid himself of those ugly pajama things he used to not be ashamed to be seen in public wearing!

He was also much, much colder, but that was expected.

Cullen coughed, “Inquisitor...I should return to...seeing to the preparations.”

Oddly, Cullen went to the Inquisitor's quarters, and not the war room as Dorian expected. His mind immediately decided that the Commander and the Inquisitor were sleeping together. In most probably, the bed that they had shared once. It was none of his business of course, not anymore.

Not since the last five years or so. Dorian cleared his throat and tried his best not to look like all the ways of vagrancy that he actually was.

“Inquisitor.”

“Altus. To what do I owe this pleasure?” Dorian licked his dry lips.

The words were not coming, and the inadequacy of his circumstance was overwhelming.

“Actually, Inquisitor, it's Magister Pavus now-a rather shocking turn of events, yes? I would be happy to tell you all the gory details once I am more presentable.” Maxwell's face was the icy mask of restrainedness that Dorian remembered, was reserved to those brought to him for judgement, back in the good old days of hold-smacking with goats.

“I await you at your leisure, Magister, at the Commander's office, if you please.”

Maxwell could have just as easily froze Dorian on the spot, right where he stood, with a wave of his hand and the gesture would have been _less_ hostile.

Sullen, he made his way to his old quarters-at the same time glad that the main hall was empty, although it did strike him as somewhat _odd_. Where was everyone? He half expected Mother Giselle to materialize and start to pester him with her suspicions, or something familiar like that. At least he was spared the hoard of gossiping nobles.

Alis and Saar awaited him at his door. His old door. His current door-he was unsure of which technicalities applied to the current situation.

“Well, did you fuck and make up?” Alis, accentuating her question with a few obvious winks, asked him.

“ _Kaffas_ , Alis-show a little curtsy, would you? And maybe some tact while you're at it. And comb your hair, too.” Alis visibly bristled at the hair comment, which-Dorian was pleased about in a mean way.

“Here's clothes,” said Saar, fully aware that Alis would physically harm Dorian unless he interrupted them, “me and Alis have been given room elsewhere. Garden view, I'm told.” 

Alis was not happy about this.

“Of course gets the room all to himself. _Of course_. He probably wants to be alone with his shampoo or something. He's going to _slather_ himself with the stuff and then shove the bo-” Saar did the right thing, by silently placing his hands on Alis' shoulders and guiding her away before it was too late-a true and steadfast ally, Saar was. And _of course_ she would bring up hair products-which was hardly fair at all. Dorian had not touched a bottle of anything-product, let alone shampoo, in weeks.

It made him all the more eager to get into the bath-with actual plumbing, bless those ancient elves who built the place.

Maxwell had requested that these rooms be given to him upon the completion of their repairs.

 _'Consider it a token of my affections, Sugar.'_ he'd said, despite Dorian's protests that yes, it would look awfully a lot like he was, in fact, bedding the inquisitor for the sake of gaining material things, and power.

_'A mere token yes-being given the second most luxurious quarters in Skyhold. You know-most people would have settled for something less blatant-how about flowers? Southerners like that sort of thing, yes?'_

His complaints had ceased-for the most part, when he saw the marble beauty for the first time. It was fit for a king-he doubted the king of Ferelden himself even had an actual bath with running water. Not even the Inquisitor's quarters had one.

Could a man lust for a bath? Could he, actually, make love to a marble tub?

Well, he certainly found the sight of it arousing. And, the moan that came out of him when the water touched his skin was positively erotic. He stayed in as long as he could-well, until the hot water ran out.

He even managed to get rid of all the knots in his hair-deciding on a whim to not shave it off in frustration-and trim down his beard into something more seemly.

What weren't so seemly were the clothes provided for him by the quartermaster-ugly things that made _plaidweave_ look like the most royal and expensive of silks-it was all brown too. Like dog shit.

They were better however than the almost-rags he'd had on previously, and he supposed they were _affluent_ enough robes in the Southern sense, as he put them on. Presenting himself in all his naked glory to the Inquisitor would not go down very well among the Skhold nobility, he suspected.

Dorian now felt like he looked like less of a ' _refuse-riding_ ' vagrant and more of a ' _recently destitute noble_ ' sort of vagrant.

He was just about done lacing up his boot when a knock came at his door.

 _“You in there shampoo-boy?”_ Dorian briefly considered escaping through the window, if only to escape the fact that someone had actually called him what Alis had just called him. _“You better not be naked 'cause I'm coming in!”_

Alis, true to her word as always, barged into the room in a flurry of brown ugly clothing that matched his own, and brandishing a comb.

“Help me with this, yeah?”

“Where's Saar?” he asked as he half-hesitantly took the comb from her hand, as she sat down on the edge of his bed.

“Bathing-because me and him have to wait for hot water to be carried up a thousand flights of stairs unlike _some_ people.”

Dorian elected to ignore the look she was giving him. She always did that, say something and wait to get a reaction. He instead focused on the mess of tangles in front of him.

“Yes, yes, I am a pampered princess, your insinuations would work a lot better if the things you were supposedly insinuating at weren't so blatant.” he said in the most imperious tone he could muster.

It shut her up for good measure, with only the occasional _'ow!'_ and _'fuck you, Pavus!'_ when Dorian had to work through a particularly stubborn knot.

“There, all done!” Alis' hair looked slightly less comical now, but still quite large, “now, if you'll excuse me, I really should be going. I've kept the Inquisitor waiting long enough.”

He exited the room before he could see the suggestive wiggling of her eyebrows.

The way to Commander Cullen's office was considerably less quiet. There was much activity going on outside-it looked like quite the gathering too, but he thought nor much of it as he entered Cullen's office to find Maxwell sitting at the Commander's desk.

“Have you been waiting long?” he did not want to add tardiness to the other offences he had made to the Inquisitor.

“Only about half an hour. I remember how you like to take your time.” Dorian didn't want to remember all the times they had been intimate in his bath either, otherwise he'd never go into his quarters again.

“Yes,” Dorian said awkwardly, “I do like to bathe.”

The two stared uncomfortably at each other until Maxwell mercifully broke the silence. “

To what do I owe this pleasure, Magister?” Alright, not so mercifully. But still it was better than the silence.

“I came here...” Dorian swallowed, with a nervousness that he was usually much better at hiding, “I came here seeking political asylum.” Maxwell visibly tensed, and his façade of restraint visibly cracked, if only a little and only for a small instant,

“Dorian, what have you done?”

“A-according to Ferelden law, any religious or governing body, be it serving or independent to the King's authority is required to grant asylum to-”

“Dorian!” Maxwell was definitely angry now, still attempting his utmost not to be-but his hands clenched in tight fists of anger on Cullen's desk-and the air around him fizzing with magic were betraying him, “Dorian, what have you done? Does this have to do with you becoming Magister?”

“I didn't kill anyone, to become Magister, if that was your first thought.” It stung him, the obvious recoil in Maxwell-he had thought that.

He had thought that Dorian killed someone in a grab for power.

“The title was bestowed upon me by Alexius-or more accurately, by his death.” It would take some time to explain the whole mess-what he had offered for now was but an oversimplification. But it would have to suffice.

Maxwell rose from his chair-Dorian thought he was about to storm out of the office in anger-or finally throw a fireball in his face, but instead he called for one of the guards posted outside.

“Fetch Lady Josephine from the festivities, tell her to come here immediately.”

“Aye your Worship-right away!” and the guard was off, and the feeling of unease Dorian had experienced when Cullen went into Maxwell's quarters returned.

“What is everyone celebrating?” Dorian dared ask, fearing the answer.

“An engagement.” Maxwell said, as if ready to deliver a blow. 

“Who's engagement?” Dorian didn't even have to ask, but he did so anyway.

“My engagement. I'm getting married in a month.” Maxwell, he knew had taken some pleasure in saying so-like he was issuing a challenge, daring Dorian somehow.

When had he grown so good at reading the Inquisitor's intentions? But, then again, how could he not have been good at it? He had known him once.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to post a little earlier than I had planned-yay for free time!


	3. Dorian Pavus, A True Tevinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years ago, Maxwell would have seethed with rage-would have faced the Archon himself, if it meant saving him.  
> Now? Dorian didn't know.

To say that Cassandra was angry would be a gross understatement, if ever one was made. She had followed the guard and Josephine of her own volition, suspicious of the goings on in the dear Commander's office.

“Explain. _Now_.” Dorian had explained already twice-once to Maxwell, and once to Josephine. Sighing, he began again.

“As I have already said, Alexius-before the whole Venatori business, had me named as an heir to the holdings of his house in the event that no heir with the Alexius name remained living.” He was sure that none of the people present were in unawares of complexities that came with nobility-especially nobility of Tevinter, yet the frowns-maybe confusion, maybe of judgement, directed at him made his collar feel just that little more constricting.

Only Maxwell seemed to comprehend. It was all the history between them-it must have been. 

“Usually, a family would name another branch of the same family for this purpose-cousins, second cousins-fourteenth cousins, it doesn't matter, as long as the blood and the last name remain unchanged and unchallenged-anything to preserve their power."

He needn't tell them of what lengths his own father would have gone to, to make sure that the Pavus legacy was preserved-aside from Maxwell, no one knew. The knowledge passed like a current-when he dared to look. It was the first time, since he'd gotten to Skyhold that he'd seen the Inquisitor display anything other than anger...or intended malice, no matter how mild it had been-not that it would have been obvious to anyone else other than Dorian. Maxwell was almost as good as himself when it came to hiding his emotions.

“Even bastards are given precedence over outsiders-often they are taken in under the guise of being mere apprentices, but the truth is always more complex than that.” Dorian added lastly, for good measure, hoping that if not deciding to actively help him, Maxwell at least wouldn't throw him out.

“And you are seeking asylum, _because_?” Cassandra eyed him with obvious distrust. It was alright though, he knew he deserved it this time around.

“Among other things, Alexius left me his seat in the Magestirium. Many of Alexius' relatives disagree, for obvious reasons...and I have since made enemies beyond them too. They successfully petitioned the Archon for a proving.”

“What do you mean, what other enemies?” Maxwell's question sounded more like an accusation.

“Those who commit evil deeds do not like to see justice served to them. That is all you need to know.” Dorian said, not meeting Maxwell's eyes, instead busying himself with loosening the buttons of his collar. The less Maxwell and the Inquisition knew, the less incriminated they were. All he needed was to survive. He didn't need it to be comfortable.

Maxwell was getting married. To a _woman_ , after all. Granting asylum to a Tevinter fugitive must be the greatest of inconveniences.

“And attempts have no doubt been made on your life.” Josephine said, mostly to state what was already obvious from the state that Dorian had arrived in. His circumstances while travelling where the hardest he had fallen to, unquestionably so, “Regardless, arrangements need to be made in order to formally accept Lord Pavus' request for asylum...you _have_ accepted it, yes, Inquisitor?”

The thought that Maxwell would refuse him burned now more than ever-he did not dare look at him, he simply did not want to see the refusal happen.

Five years ago, Maxwell would have seethed with rage-would have faced the _Archon_ himself, if it meant saving him. Now? Dorian didn't know.

“Of course, Josephine.” his voice was not warm, “I'm sure that there is paperwork involved.” His voice was...his voice was inconvenienced.That was the only word that could accurately describe it through the thrumming of euphoria that was coursing through him. Maxwell had accepted him back at Skyhold-for now at least. He had managed to _survive_. 

“I will have it all arranged Inquisitor…perhaps _after_ the proceedings of today are complete?”

Josephine was eager to return to the engagement party-no doubt an event of her orchestration. Dorian wondered how quickly he could drink himself into a stupor if he did join the festivities of Maxwell's engagement party. He hadn't done _that_ in ages.

“No-we can't waste anymore time. Cassandra, tell Adelina-tell her that something important came up...actually, don't say anything. Just keep her occupied until it's time for the toast.”

Maxwell looked at Dorian, and then at Cassandra, who was in turn looking at Maxwell with an expression that was half-way between a raised eyebrow and a frown. He had no idea how Cassandra managed to do that. The woman was truly blessed with the ability to convey a thousand disapprovals with a single look.

“Just make sure you get there in time, _Inquisitor_.” And her ability to convey disgust with her voice? It was like the practised hand of a surgeon, slicing into flesh. It was spectacular-he had a feeling that she would interrogate him later on. One of her other virtues was that she never did leave things half-done.

“I'll bring the necessary paperwork Inquisitor-I'd rather oversee this matter personally, if you don't mind.” Dorian assumed that Josephine wanted to be present for the proceedings to make sure that he and Maxwell didn't come to blows-or something similarly likely to ruin the party-even though he hand her had shared some form of a friendship in the past. 

“Of course.”

Josephine and Cassandra left-Cassandra giving Maxwell one last disapproving look as she shut the door after herself and the Ambassador.

And now, _again_ , here he was standing in front of the Inquisitor like a schoolboy being scolded by a teacher. He really wished that Cullen would have had another chair in his office-did the Commander never actually see people into his office? There was nothing left to do but to cross his arms over his chest and tilt his head up in defiance-to really just complete that scolded-school-boy persona.

“So,” Dorian began, as he counted the seconds to Josephine's return, “congratulations are in order, I believe.”

Adelina. Of course she'd be called Adelina. She was probably tall and voluptuous-with blue eyes and warm golden hair, A _woman_. Maxwell was going to marry a _woman_ and thanks to Divine Victoria he'd have little mageling children with her that would inherit their father's dark auburn hair, his deep, soothing voice, and his strong nose-and his dark, dark eyes that Mawell had fixed in a dead stare on him.

Indeed, Maxwell's life was going to be absolutely _perfect_.

“No,” Maxwell said, “you don't get to say that, Dorian.” It was Maxwell's turn to look away now, uncomfortable.

Did Adelina even know him? Did she even _know_?

“Why not? If I had known, I would have brought you two a wedding gift,” the words were pouring out of him now, like snapping back into an old state of being-that state of him that wanted to defend his wounds with cutting words, “Maybe new curtains for your quarters. I remember how you liked domesticity.”

Maxwell laughed a bark of a laugh-no mirth in it at all.

“Indeed Dorian, is that all you remember? I shouldn't fault you, really.” He was risking much by engaging with Maxwell-the Inquisitor in this manner, he was dependent on his goodwill, yes-that much was true, but it was too late now. Perhaps it was time for words to be exchanged on the matter-it was time for Dorian to crush that voice at the back of his conscience that so compelled him to beg for forgiveness.

“Shouldn't fault me? Why _ever_ not? I know you are holding back. I'm here, aren't I?” Dorian outstretched his arms, leaving himself open to any assault that would come-even be it physical.

But Maxwell simply laughed again-this time with just a hint of true emotion in it. Maxwell's mask always could be broken if his emotions were too strong. He was _almost_ as good as Dorian at hiding what he felt. Only almost.

“I shouldn't fault you for not remembering,” he said, as if ready to deliver a blow, “To be quite honest, Dorian, the fondest memory I have of you at this point, is your absence. This too you have taken away from me.”

Nothing, nothing at all could have quite prepared him for that. It was downright cruel-it was like the twisting of the knife after being stabbed.

“Believe me, Maxwell,” Dorian's voice was still strong, but softer, “I wouldn't have come here if I had any other option.”

“I do not doubt that.” Maxwell said, “But now you have become the thing you so despised-clinging to your ties to me and the Inquisition to get what you want.”

Damn him, Dorian hated him, and loved him, and hurt for it.

“Yes. We all must do things we aren't proud of, Maxwell, in order to survive.” He had to-there simply was no other way.

Indeed he had become all of the things he despised-a Magister, a coward, a man that clung to the power of others for his own gain. But these weren't things that he hadn't already told himself.

“Is that why you left, to survive?” it wasn't a fair question on Maxwell's part. At the time, it felt like he had to get away to survive.

However much he had hated Alexius for burdening him with the rule of his house, he had also been grateful at the time-in a twisted, ugly way. He had thought himself ready for Maxwell, for a life with him, but he wasn't, and he caved-and _ran_. He was just so good at running away from his problems-it was inevitable, really.

It came as naturally to him as drawing breath-and he hated himself for it, but he accepted it as he had other parts of him deemed unsavory.

“Do you want me to get on my knees and grovel for forgiveness, Inquisitor?” he said, his voice cracking, in a way that it had only a few times in his life, “Would that please you?”

Maxwell smiled sadly, “Of course not, Dorian. I just want to get this over with.”

Mercifully, it was at that moment that Josephine returned with the necessary papers. Tactful as ever, she made no mention of the tension in the office, but she did lance Dorian's way every so often, with the sad, concerned eyes.

The cold air was welcome, when he was finally able to leave Cullen's office. And to think that there was a time when he absolutely hated the cold. He had come to appreciate it now-it help with achieving the numbness that he had so began to crave. If only he could have a nice bottle of vintage to help with that, he'd be truly a happy Tevinter.

He had no desire whatsoever, however, to go down to the party to get some. Briefly he wondered where Saar and Alis had gone to, but as he was about to enter his quarters, he was interrupted.

“Well fuck me-look who it is.” of course Bull would find him. He had been somewhat expecting it too. Bull always did manage to find him. 

“I see that time has not turned you into less of a brute, Bull.” Bull laughed at that-and Dorian smiled, despite himself. He would never admit to another living soul that he had missed The Iron Bull-even though he had. He had missed absolutely everyone from Skyhold, at some point. 

Dorian turned to face him, Bull who looked more or less the same since he last saw him. Tal-Vashoth must not age as humans did. 

“Very funny, Dorian. Now are you going to explain to me why you look like shit, or am I gonna have to guess?” He liked that Bull talked to him as if no time had passed between them. He didn't like that Bull was doing the thing where he urged Dorian to talk about his feelings. The bloody _Ox_ was a bloody _hypocrite_.

“You just go ahead and make your assumptions, Bull-unless you've forgotten the entirety of your Ben-Hassrath training in the span of the last five years.” He hadn't meant to be quite so acidic with his tone.

“Max gave you a hard time, huh?” Bull said gently-a gentleness reserved only for friends, as Dorian had learned. 

“Yes. But I deserved it.” He was about to turn back to his door when Bull's hand on his wrist stopped him.

“Are you sure about that, Dorian?” A giant such as Bull really ought not to be quite so soothing, but he was none the less-still, Dorian did not answer him. The answers wouldn't be pleasant. After standing there for what felt like a long time, Bull asked,

“Are you gonna invite me inside?”

“Yes.” Dorian said, not hesitating nearly as much as he should.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How'd ya like chapter 3, my dears?


	4. Dorian Pavus, A Paragon of Tact and Charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn't stay with the Inquisition permanently, of that much he was certain. He had to return to Tevinter as soon as possible, in fact. There were important things that waited for him there. 
> 
> He also was of a certainty that Maxwell wouldn't want to him to stick around for the wedding, which was just as well. He had no desire to watch him live the blissful married life, either.

Dorian was extremely displeased, yet unsurprised at the fact that Bull had gone to answer the door completely naked, and also grateful that it was just Alis at the door, and not someone like Cassandra-or Maker forbid, Maxwell. But then again, _'just'_ and _'Alis'_ were not words that went together.

“Hey shampoo fucke-what the _fuck_? Who the _fuck_ are you?” Alis' diminutive size landed her face squarely at Bull's waist-it was terrible-especially with how obvious it was that she was impressed with what was presented before her, “Damn-well. I can see why you didn't show up for breakfast this morning-um...well done. Carry on.”

It was the closest Dorian had ever come to seeing her silenced. He would certainly have a lot to explain to her later.

“So,” Bull said-not at all phased by the fact that he'd just given the elf a face-full of...well... _horn_ , “the elf is with you-and the Saarebas too?”

“Yes they are-what of it?” Dorian tried to untangle himself from the sheets-the night before had really been something-in the way a man in a desert would think an oasis is something. Had it really been that long?

He'd had lovers since Maxwell, it was true, but none quite like Bull-for instance, he remembered none of their names, and he'd never been quite all that sober during engagement.

“How did you come by them?” Bull helped Dorian with freeing himself from the sheets.

“Alis belonged to Alexius-she's a liberati now, and Saar I found wandering Seheron.” Finally free, Dorian began to look for his clothes-not that he looked forward to putting on the dog-shit clothing again, but beggars can't be choosers. Bull reclined on the bed, and watched Dorian dress.

“That's all you're gonna say about it?” he asked.

“Yes!” Dorian huffed, pulling up his trousers, “That is all I have to say about it!”

He was getting impatient with Bull's interrogation. If he really wanted to know, he'd ask Alis or Saar-Dorian couldn't presume to speak for them. Or, better still, Bull could mind his own business.

Was he obliged to blather out all his secrets when they slept together? Was that a Qunari thing?

“Just watch out for the Saarebas. They're dangerous.”

“Oh-I suspect that I won't have too,” Dorian pulled on his boot, and began to lace it, “I suspect that you'll be watching him enough for both of us.” He knew well enough what the Qun thought of mages-and all those learnings that Bull had internalized over the years. He was Tal-Vashoth now, but one doesn't forget an entire lifetime of indoctrination at the snap of fingers.

“Watch out for the elf too-you know she got the hots for you, right?”

Ah, well.

He'd expected Bull to notice that, just not quite so soon. His reflexive response was to tell Bull, 'Of course she does-have you seen me?' It had happened to him before in the past, women practically throwing themselves at him. Even Livia Herathinos had tried to get him alone and disrobed. The poor woman had no idea just how uninterested he was. He had spared her from a life with a husband who would never want her...and maybe left her with the impression that he was impotent. But it was a small price to pay.

Alis on the other hand...Alis was a whole other entanglement. He couldn't well leave her like he did Livia...or well, Maxwell, now that he thought of it. Alis had no one aside from him and Saar, and nothing to return to in Tevinter aside from Alexius' mansion in Vyrantium, and all the memories of slavery that clung to it. He didn't know how it had come to be...that she had developed...feelings for him.

Turning her down had not been pretty or pleasant. She had taken it badly-not speaking to him for months, until after a particularly exhaustive day of running, Dorian and her had come across a group or Tal-Vashoth, and Saar.

'We're going to take him in, yeah? We're going to help him?' He could hardly say no.

That was how he operated now, save people and have them fall terribly in love with you and swear their undying loyalty. He called it, 'The Inquisitor Maxwell Trevelyan Method'. As he recalled, that was how the Inquisition had come by all its supporters.

“Yes Bull, I am aware-and I would greatly appreciate it if you did not interfere in the matter.” Bull grunted a response.

Dorian hoped that it meant that he wouldn't, but with the Iron Bull one could never be certain.

Sighing, Dorian left the Iron Bull-still naked and unashamed on his bed, and left for the library, which he hoped had not disintegrated into a pile of ash in his absence.

It had not, thankfully. It was actually better than he remembered it, and with no longer a single copy of the Malefica Imperio in sight.

Helisma was there too, placid and calm as always, along with his chair. He was so pleased to see it that he almost hugged it.

That is what thrilled him now, baths and chairs. He sent one of the uniformed scouts that always seemed to be roaming about the library to fetch Alis for him-it was better if he didn't chase her-and like a weary old man he sank down on his chair.

He had to plan on what he would do next. His focus in the last few months had simply been on survival.

He couldn't stay with the Inquisition permanently, of that much he was certain. He had to return to Tevinter as soon as possible, in fact. There were important things that waited for him there.

He also was of a certainty that Maxwell wouldn't want to him to stick around for the wedding, which was just as well. He had no desire to watch him live the blissful married life, either.

Lost in his thoughts, he had not noticed that someone had walked up to him. And when Dorian looked up and caught a glimpse of who it was-well...

And here Dorian had hoped for a quiet day of slinking and sulking in the library in his favourite chair-he'd even planned to seek out Bull after being done with Alis.

“Dorian, I must speak with you.” Maxwell said, serious and solemn.

The mask was falling off. Emotions were coming out.

Dorian suspected that this would be the part were Maxwell would throw him out. His heart beat so fast it felt like it was about to give and just finally collapse upon itself-crushed beneath the weight of all his recent happenings and coupled with seeing Maxwell again. Maxwell who was getting married to a _woman_.

“Have you come to rub my unfortunate circumstances in my face again?” Might as well go out with some flair, Dorian thought. 

“Fucking voi-Dorian!” Maxwell had actually cursed in front of polite company. How novel.

“Yes, that is, in fact my name.” He wanted to see if he could get the high and noble Inquisitor to do it again-it was better than the restraint and anger he had gotten the day before. The mask would wear away with enough prompting.

“Dorian, I hoped to find you here so that...so that I could apologize to you for my...harsh words, yesterday.” And Maxwell...Maxwell actually looked embarrassed. This was as if...as if-by all accounts, Dorian was baffled. Perhaps this was all a figment of his broken and shattered psyche-or Bull had pounded him a little too hard the night before, in his unquenchable lust for Tevinter renegade mages.

“I-ah. Inquisitor, you needn't concern yourself with offending me-your apology is accepted.” Dorian dared to think that Maxwell looked relieved, if still tense. That was how it would undoubtedly be now, he would have to constantly guess at the man's intentions.

Had he dreamed the interactions from the night before? Dorian's mind reeled. Forgiveness was what he had hoped for in his most desperate of moments, all those times when he had been inches from breaking.

“May I ask, Inquisitor, why the sudden change of heart?” he asked, deciding to test the limits of this new and strange development.

“Adelina wishes to meet the man I... _consorted_ with-you are invited to have dinner with us tonight.” Maxwell must have wished he could take the words back before he was finished saying them. It all dawned on Dorian now. How absolutely charming and wonderful, it meant that she knew that Maxwell had been with men before, in a manner _other_ than a casual dalliance.

His _fiancée_ had sent him, out of curiosity of who her dear and beloved husband-to-be had been _fucking_ in his wild years of ancient darkspawn hunting.

Perfect. Lovely. _Magnificent_. Dorian wanted to throw up.

“How generous of your wife-to-be!” Dorian said, with a manner that he hoped conveyed joviality, but he suspected conveyed more of a hysteria, and he laughed, and laughed, attracting attention, “What a kind and virtuous woman!”

“Just be there, Dorian.” with that order, Maxwell left him, not wanting to provide more of a spectacle than the two of them being seen together already was. He'd just have to attend now. He couldn't slight the future mistress of the hold in such a manner.

Alis would simply have to grit have to wait-and Saar! He hadn't seen Saar the whole time they had been here! What if the Saarebas had gotten himself into some sort of trouble, and Dorian couldn't assist him because of the trappings of social convention?

Dorian decided that he would dislike Adelina on principle just for that-it had nothing to do with the fact that Maxwell was in love with her-he was with Bull in a manner, after all, and doing that would have made him a hypocrite.

It was with those same feelings, that he found himself borrowing- _borrowing_ , formalwear from Krem, seeing as the quartermaster's reach was not far enough as to provide him with any.

The man had seen him wondering about the courtyard, exiting the Quartermaster's building in a haze of despair and resignation and took pity on him.

“You're gonna need help with this one, Pavus.” that was why Krem had followed him to his quarters, and was helping him dress-as though he were an ignorant child incapable of dressing himself.

It wasn't that he was unused to complex clothing, it was that the damned thing Krem presented him was a more complex piece of clothing than he _expected_ , and more heavy, like a blanket.

It was also far more tasteful and aesthetically appealing than anything he'd have imagined anyone so closely associated with Bull would own-the man wore circus tent trousers, it was not unfair of Dorian to be making such assumptions, and the collar on it wasn't so tight-and it was black instead of the delightful shade of shit-brown his other outfit was.

Thank the Maker for small mercies.

All he had to do for now was sit and wait in his borrowed clothing until one of the squires came to fetch him.

He despised waiting. And he despised having to follow the short man who had had his grubby little hands on him the day before-Smithy, he was called, Dorian had found out simply because the man would _not_ shut up.

“How are you this fine evening, lord?” he asked.

“I am well.” Dorian answered.

“Fine night, yes? We've been having nice weather recently. I am Smithy, by the way, did I mention that?” he had mentioned that, a few times in fact.

“A pleasure.” Dorian said again, for the millionth time. 

Why was it customary to send guardsmen to fetch guests? It was not like Dorian was unaware where the Inquisitor's quarters were. Was Maxwell just doing this to remind him just how much of an outsider he had become?

“Right this way, Lord Pavus.” Smithy held the door open for him-and even knocked on the Inquisitor's door-lest Dorian bruise his knuckles, or something equally ridiculous.

A woman opened the door, exactly his height, dark of hair and skin, and with a face so lovely that he could _cry_.

There were no doubts in his mind about who she was.

“You must be Dorian Pavus!” even her voice was warm, melodic and pleasing to the ear, “Maxwell has told me so much about you.”

Had he been a man of lesser upbringing he would have snorted. He could only imagine what Maxwell had told her about him, _'Adelina, this is the man who ran away five years ago in the middle of the night right after we slept together, and he only left me with a note and a some jewellery.' ._

“I am Adelina D'Osieux, formerly of Ostwick.” she grasped Dorian's hands in her soft, perfectly manicured ones and smiled, “Please do come in.”

It was going to be a long, long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frends, I give you this chapter ahead of time, as an ahead of time apology because I will be updating less often in the next week or so. 
> 
> Life gets in the way, alas! What can you do though, amirite? 
> 
> Also, s/o to my regulars :). I <3 u all.


	5. Dorian Pavus: A Man of Pleasure, and Nothing More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That was what had kept him from sleeping at night. The fear of losing Maxwell to the mundane. Dealing with Corypheus was easy in comparison to that.

Dorian was an old hand at uncomfortable dinner parties. As a child, dear mother had made sure that he attended all of her social gatherings-he hated it at first, as a young boy wanting to be done with all the fanfare. As he grew up, however, he had become an expert at blending in with it all, moulding himself into a creature that was nothing other than sharp smiles and pleasing lies.

This particular dinner, however, was _nothing_ like those of his youth. This dinner just _exuded_ informality and comfort-the hostess had even gone so far as to present him with foods from his homeland.

“In case you feel homesick,” Lady Adelina said, “Maxwell has told me of your difficult circumstances. I can only imagine how difficult it must be.”

Dorian found himself genuinely touched by the thought she put into making him feel welcome, and it only made him dislike her more. It was unfair. He knew it was unfair as he felt it, but he just _couldn't_ stop himself.

“You are too generous Lady Adelina-and a woman of excellent taste too. Maxwell is truly fortunate.” Dorian flashed the woman his most sincere smile. He was good at those.

Maxwell, who had been quiet so far, smiled at his fiancée with fondness. Dorian wondered if he had ever done so for _him_.

“You are not unkind yourself Lord Pavus. I realize that my invitation was...unorthodox.” she said as she poured wine into Dorian's glass. It was a marvel, of how accepting and at ease she was with the entire situation-as if she were dining among old friends and not with the former male lover of her husband-to-be.

She was like a thing conjured out of some dream-or one of Dorian's _nightmares_ , back when he and Maxwell lived together right in these quarters in which now they dined. That was what had kept him from sleeping at night. The fear of losing Maxwell to the mundane. Dealing with Corypheus was easy in comparison to that.

“I thought,” Adelina continued, as she offered glances at both himself and Maxwell, “since Maxwell keeps close correspondence with all his allies-friends, who helped him build the Inquisition-I thought that we could be friends too.”

Dorian almost spat out his wine. Maxwell looked like he had just bitten on something bitter. Did she really think that they were on friendly terms? It was unlikely.

“We are already the dearest of friends,” said Maxwell, dripping with sarcasm “dearest to the deepest _bowels_ of my _bosoms_.”

Dorian couldn't help but laugh. Adelina was a true marvel and a delight. Maxwell was even comfortable enough when she was present to be sarcastic. 

“If we were any more friendly, we'd be joined at the hip.” he added, handing Dorian a napkin. The friendliest gesture he'd made to him so far. It was strange really. Adelina's presence must have been distracting him from how much he angered at Dorian, but something had definitely changed.

“Maxwell please, be polite to our guest.” she said, swatting him on the arm.

Oh, the perfect couple before him. Lucky him to bask in their prenuptial radiance.

“Where are the rest of them anyway?” Dorian asked before the taste in his mouth got too sour.

He hadn't really seen anyone from the good old days...aside from Bull. He only knew from Krem that Vivienne and Varric had returned to Val Royeaux and Kirkwall respectively. 

“Oh they're here, I assure you. Try the tavern.” Maxwell took a sip of his wine, “Bull has even accepted an official position in the Inquisition. He's our new spymaster-well, not so new. He's been for the last four years or so.” Dorian would have to have words with Bull about him excluding _that_ particularity.

“I'm sure he's told you all about it.” Maxwell looked at him pointedly, with the slightest narrowing of his eyes, but at the same time with something that betrayed that he was now _relieved_ , if that made any sense. 

He knew that he and Bull had been together. How he was able to find out was beyond him, unless he had literal eyes in the walls.Or unless Bull had told him, in the short span that the day had been. It was the more likely explanation.

“You and Messere Bull are together, yes?” Adelina's question caught him off guard.

There was really no way to explain what he and Bull were in polite company. They were certainly not _lovers_ -in the sense that Dorian simply did not love the man, nor did Bull love him, he knew. There was just something between them that was not quite _just_ physical yet at the same time could not be considered _just_ friendship.

Bull was not like the other casual encounters he'd had.

He'd stuck around. Bull was the one he'd been sleeping with before the whole thing with Maxwell. Bull was the only one Dorian had told when he was leaving. He's left his parting note to Maxwell with him.

_'You're just here until Max gets his shit together and finally makes a move.'_ he would say.

Dorian would deny it-because at the time he was unsure as to where the dear Inquisitor's preferences lay. It turned out that Bull had been right, as he always was in the matters that would cause Dorian the most inconvenience.

_'No hard feelings.'_ he'd said, and he'd meant it.

Thank the Maker for that too-if Maxwell had thought that Dorian and Bull were romantically involved, he wouldn't have made a move at all-something about Knight-Enchanter's honour and, _'Who am I to interfere in your happiness, Dorian?'_.

Of course that was all over now.

Maxwell was in love and about to marry, and Dorian was a refugee at his ex-lover's mercy, currently bedding his ex-ex-lover he'd been with when he thought that Maxwell didn't like men-and to add that extra pinch of terribleness, his ex-lover's fiancée was casually asking him about it. It was almost funny, really, his talent for getting himself into terrible situations and always making them somehow worse. A tendency for self-destruction was among his many other varied and incredibly numerous talents.

“Together is not the word I'd use, Lady Adelina.” how could he discretely explain to such a warm and amiable woman what he and Bull had?

_'Well you see, my dear woman, Bull saw that I was upset so, he tied me up to the bedposts until I could vent away my frustrations. It is an old arrangement of convenience, I assure you.'_ or maybe _'I immediately jumped into bed with the Iron Bull because it was familiar and I'm certain that your fiancé hates me.'_.

Dorian did not say any of those things, of course, he was already enough of a wretched thing without having to add more wretchedness to the pot.

“Ah, so it is a physical thing only, Lord Dorian?” He very much wished that she would stop asking him such questions in front of Maxwell. He did not know if it was just naive curiosity or if she was playing at some sort of a game with him, but regardless, he wished she would just _stop_.

“Are you happy?” she asked. How could he answer such a question? Was anyone ever really happy? Was she happy?

“Adelina...” Maxwell gently placed a hand on Adelina's own smaller one. It was meant as a comforting gesture. For what Maxwell was comforting her, Dorian did not know.

“Forgive me Lord Pavus, I meant no offense.” of course Dorian believed her.

“It was no offense at all, Lady. And to answer your question-the Iron Bull and myself are friends. We have been friends for a long time.” It was in no way a satisfactory answer, but that was he best he could do at the moment.

He might have been more honest had Maxwell not been there.

The rest of dinner passed without much more talk about past loves, and after the table had been cleared, and the last of the evening wine had been drunk, a pleasant numbness washed over him.

How much of the _Pavali_ had he drunk, anyway? Not enough for him to not have felt pangs of something unhappy for the past hour as Maxwell touched Adelina's hands, and her face as they lounged on the sofa-the same one that Dorian had picked out for the Inquisitor's quarters long ago.

They certainly weren't shy about their affections. If he was unawares of the amount of drink that the two lovebirds had had, he would have sworn that they were pointedly putting on a display for his sake. Who did that, anyway? Who started sucking face when guests were _present_?

Well maybe they were not sucking face as such, they were simply sitting next to each other and touching, but they might as well have been. So much for being polite to the guests. Dorian felt that he was overstaying his welcome.

“I should really be going.” he told no one in particular. He tried to stand, but the light-headedness from the wine and all the other feelings that were flowing through him made him dizzy, and he had to support himself against the table to keep from falling flat on the ground.

“Hold on, Dorian.” Maxwell stood-himself a little unsteady, and put his hand on Dorian's arm, bracing him. Maxwell was actually touching him, how lovely. And it wasn't a punch in the face or anything like that either.

Still, Dorian was half afraid that Maxwell was going to offer to walk him back to his quarters.

“I'll send someone to get Bull for you, that sound good?” He'd heard that from Maxwell a thousand times. 'Does that sound good to you, Sugar?' He used to hate that moniker. It used make him blush and sputter like some love-sick fool.

_'Why do you insist on calling me that?'_ he would ask every-time, and every time, the answer he'd get was the same,

_'Because you're just so sweet, Dorian.'_. 

“I'll be alright, Inquisitor. You...you enjoy the rest of your evening.” just like that, Maxwell let go of him.

He bade goodnight to them and immediately headed for the tavern-he hoped to find Bull there, or Alis-or Saar. He lied to himself that he was going there in order to find his comrades, and not to get himself into an intensely drunken stupor.

He was greeted upon arrival, much to a _small_ amount of delight, with the familiar sight of Blackwall, and Sera and Cole.

Apparently they drunk together now-apparently _Cole_ drank. Sera and Cole frequented the Tavern _together_.

“I was wondering when I'd finally see you.” Blackwall handed him a flagon, “Circumstance came to bite you, eh Dorian?”

Dorian made an unattractive sound of agreement, and drank from the flagon. It was utterly repugnant, and utterly assured him of a swift drunkenness to come.

“I told you he'd come back, Blackwall. Couldn't stay away from certain someone’s, yeah?” Sera laughed, "Although, I dead hear you been rubbin' nobs with someone else in the meantime!” Sera taking amusement from his misfortunes was expected.

He could almost say that she was sort of, maybe, somewhat pleased to see him again.

It could also have been that the knowledge of his sex life made her happy in her own strange way-he would really have to have words with bull now. The man was a braggart. Not that he had no right to be, but still.

“And you, Cole, aren't you going to add to this...to this delightful discussion?” His speech was definitely beginning to slur now. It was a good, familiar sign.

“No words need be exchanged,” said Cole in his faraway, distant voice that always promised awkwardness to come, “no words can be exchanged. It's too late now. He thinks that, and so do you.”

He regretted asking Cole at all. He might have changed with time but he was still, essentially, a being that could reach into a person and see everything. What Cole was seeing now, Dorian did not understand, and could not see himself.

“How are you and Maxwell getting along, then?” Blackwall couldn't possibly have been that obtuse on the situation.

“Splendidly. I just had dinner with him and the fiancée-fine woman. Fine woman.” The alcohol made him sound so bitter.

“So I take it that you and the Inquisitor are on bad terms?” Blackwall, thought Dorian, couldn't have possibly be asking him about his romantic life, right?

“Why- _why_ is everyone asking me that question? _Why_?” First it had been Bull, and now them. He looked at them fully expecting an answer.

It was Cole, who finally spoke up.

“Maxwell was...silent for a long time after you left here. He misses you greatly.” Cole looked at Dorian with a sad, concerned look on his face.

“You must be mistaken, Cole. I think your increasing humanity has tampered with your empathy.” The knowledge that Maxwell had missed him, and could possibly miss him still, was too great to bear. The three of his former comrades-in-arms all looked at each other, knowingly-even _Sera_.

“You're a right idiot, Dorian, for such a smarty-arse.” He couldn't think of a stranger circumstance in his life, that was more surreal than Sera passing wisdom onto him, “Anyway-enough of this love shite. Tell us what you've been upto?”

“Did you really try to single-handedly take over the Imperium? Kill the Archon?” asked Blackwall, happy to be changing the subject.

It was only much later, in the early hours of dawn, after so much bad ale that he could barely feel his body anymore, that Sera, Cole and Blackwall-in a joint effort, because Dorian had protested when Blackwall tried to hoist him up over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes-managed to get him to his quarters.

In his drunken haze, he almost didn't notice the men with swords at his door.

Some wore Inquisition uniforms, some wore what he instantly recognized as Imperial Templars.

“Oh.., _shite_ it all, Dorian!” Sera's voice wasn't the drunken slur it had been before. Fear was an excellent method with which one could sober up.

“Dorian Halward Pavus, halt. You are under arrest.” The man who spoke was the only one who carried a staff.

“What are the charges, pray tell?” Dorian felt a sickening lurch of fear and dread. It wasn't supposed to have happened this way. He was supposed to have had more time.

“You are accused of high treason against the Imperium and the Archon, Lord Pavus. It would be wise if you came quietly.” Blackwall's grip on his arm tightened considerably-Sera and Cole both tangibly tensed.

The fools, they were going to defend him.

“He's not going anywhere with _you_ lot.” Blackwall's other arm reached out for a sword hat was not there.

“Easy, Blackwall.” Maxwell's voice sounded from behind them, and Dorian turned dizzily to see him coming forward with Bull, followed by Josephine, and Cassandra and Cullen-the both of which had their hands firmly on their swords.

“Lord Pavus, as I said, is under my protection. If you wish to take him without my leave, you must first go through me, and through us all.”

“As is your will, Inquisitor.” said the man with the staff.

Dorian was very much afraid of what that meant.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel truly evil, ambushing you all with a cliffhanger chapter like this. 
> 
> heh heh.


	6. Dorian Pavus: A Man of Hidden Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soon he would have no choice but to tell them or die. He wanted to know, at least, exactly how willing they were to give him up.

“Explain to me again, _Ambassador_ , how in the Maker's good name did you allow these-these _thugs_ to get past the gate.” Dorian spat out the words, alcohol and fear preventing him from holding up as much decorum as he usually would.

 

“Lord Pavus, these men come bearing the _Archon's_ banner. We were forced to receive them, with the Archonial banners raised. To refuse them would be to refuse the Archon himself.” Josephine said the words as though they would give the situation clarity.

 

The guards at the gates, it seemed, had simply just let them in.

 

“And? Am I not under the Inquisition's protection, then? You will give me up at the first bump in-”

 

“Dorian, please. We will do no such thing.” It would have sounded reassuring, had Maxwell not spoken in such an eerily calm manner compared to the absolute tightness of his face and disposition, and compared to the white-knuckle grip he had on his staff.

 

He was thinking. Dorian could tell that Maxwell was thinking.

 

“However, before we plunge the Inquisition into war with Tevinter for harbouring you, you will explain to me why you are accused of _high treason_.”

 

Dorian considered his options-slim as they were. He could either simply tell the Inquisitor the whole entirety of the truth, thereby implicating him and all other associates and constituents of the Inquisition with him, or he could remain silent, and let the Archon's band of merry thugs drag him back to Tevinter to kill him, thereby rendering all that he accomplished thus far, null and void.

 

Thoughts raced through his head.

 

“Lord Pavus...I do not wish to see you come to harm.” Josephine spoke softly, her discomfort only betrayed by the tenseness about her shoulders, “But this...this is beyond what I imagined. I do not know how I can help you.”

 

“You were willing before-what changed now? You knew they would come for me.”

 

Soon he would have no choice but to tell them or die. He wanted to know, at least, exactly how willing they were to give him up.

 

“We expected emissaries from House Alexius, Lord Dorian.” Josephine said, “We expected to have more time-these men came out of nowhere. Not even The Iron Bull can seem to understand how they got here unseen.”

 

Dorian felt slightly dizzy, and it had nothing to do with the alcohol in him.

 

He knew exactly how they had managed to get to Skyhold without being detected. He also knew that that meant enormous trouble back home.

 

He had no choice now but to return.

 

“I did not expect the Archon's banner either.” he said, “I did not expect the Archon to be involved directly in this at all.”

 

“Dorian, you're going to have to talk. The _whole_ truth this time.”

A plan began to formulate in Dorian's mind, despite his impaired senses. He grabbed Maxwell by the arm.

 

“I will, but you will have to trust me on something first.”

 

He wouldn't even have had to ask, in the past-but given the look of disbelief and urgency, he was wise to do so.

 

“Maker's breath Dorian!”

 

Dorian simply held Maxwell's arm tighter, and willed with all that remained of him that Maxwell would just trust him on this, on this one thing.

 

“Fine. Fine I trust you. What do you need?”

 

Dorian could have cried, could have laughed, could have collapsed onto Maxwell and never stood again-Maxwell, Maxwell looked like he understood.

 

“I have a plan of escape,” said Dorian, “just give me enough time to gather my things-and to fetch my companions and I'll be out of your hair before you know it.”

 

“Josephine,” Maxwell looked to the Ambassador, “You and Commander Cullen keep the men outside occupied.”

 

“Inquisitor? You cannot possibly be suggesting what I think you're suggesting!” Josephine must have understood his intentions before Dorian did.

 

“Josephine-I'll be going with him.”

 

Outrage spilled from Josephine and Dorian simultaneously.

 

“You'll be coming with me? No. _No._ Have you forgotten your duties here?”

 

Dorian let go of the arm he'd been clasping, and he too looked at Josephine, as if expecting her to be the one to snap Maxwell back to his senses.

 

“We're going to use the Eluvian, am I correct in assuming that?” Dorian nodded without questioning how Maxwell had managed to come to the conclusion. Had he simply guessed? Perhaps it was obvious.

 

“The Eluvian, Inquisitor? But it does not work!”

 

“Dorian has found a way to make it work Josephine. Now go-both of you. I'll meet you in the gardens in ten minutes.”

 

No one ever ignored the Inquisitor's commands, such as they were.

 

Josephine, still unsettled joined Commander Cullen and Cassandra, to keep the Archon's men until Dorian could gather his things and his wits.

 

The first thing he did was go to Saar and Alis.

 

“We re leaving, right now.” he said urgently to the pair, “gardens in ten minutes. They have one here and we are going to use it.”

 

“They got one of those mirrors here?” Alis, looking dishevelled and irritated was busy shoving what things into a sack that would serve as her and Saar's luggage.

 

“Yes! Now hurry up!” he gestured urgently about them.

 

“Dorian?” Alis asked,

 

“Yes, what is it?”

 

“Don't forget shampoo!” Alis looked appropriately amused at her own wit, and he laughed despite his dangerously high tensions.

 

It was not time at all before he had gathered himself and the others, as he met with Maxwell, Cassandra and Bull at the garden.

 

“Are they coming too?” Alis blushed at the sight of Bull.

 

“No,” Maxwell handed each of them a pack of rations, “they're here to make sure that nothing comes out of the Eluvian.”

 

“Where will this one lead us?” Saar seemed calm, despite the circumstances.

 

“To the crossroads,” Maxwell said, “don't you have a staff?”

 

“No. I do not know how to brandish one.” Maxwell grinned and handed Saar the sare that he kept on his pack.”

 

“Take this. I'll teach you how to use one. It'll give us something to do, yes?”

 

Together, they made for the Eluvian.

 

“Are we all ready?” asked Dorian, looking at each of the present, and their faces.

 

“We're ready. Be careful in there, Dorian.” Bull kissed Dorian then, so brief that he almost didn't feel it.

 

“And you Inquisitor,” Cassandra looked at Maxwell with an odd expression, as if an old argument between them was being repeated, “Is there something you wish for me to tell Lady D'Osieaux?”

 

“Tell that she means a great deal to me, and that I am sorry.”

 

Cassandra nodded, and left it at that.

 

“Go ahead Dorian.”

Dorian touched his hand to the Eluvian's surface,

 

“ _Fen'Harel_ _enansal.”_

 

Together, they entered.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Emerges from hibernation* 
> 
> Yes, yes. A new mini-chapter now that I have more ~free time~.


	7. Dorian Pavus: A Dead Man Walking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm still not letting you hand yourself in.” 
> 
> Kaffas, Maxwell was as stubborn and as stupid as an ass.

The Eluvian sealed behind them, and for a few instances, they all stood in the dead silence of the Crossroads, with only the sounds of their heavy breathing, and thudding heartbeats.

The Crossroads put them on edge immediately. At least, it put the Inquisitor and Dorian on edge. Alis seemed her usual self, and Saar was just...well, he was Saar.

 

“We should get moving. Those men have access to the Eluvians, they could be on us at any moment.” Dorian adjusted the straps of his pack, nodded to Alis to lead the way, and all began walking-they managed to walk a good while in relative peace too.

Relatively peaceful at least, given the ever looming threat of the Archon's men hot on their trail.

 

“So, you will be explaining yourself as we trek along, I'm assuming?” Maxwell fell into pace with Dorian, their shoulders almost touching.

Maxwell's presence had so far faded comfortably to the background, but it was not to last.

 

“If you insist on becoming an accessory to treason, then I really have no choice in the matter, do I?” Alis and Saar glanced nervously at each other.

 

“I think that it is already too late for that, Dorian. You came to me, remember?”

Dorian stopped short. Of course he remembered-and if he didn't, he was sure that Maxwell would not cease to remind him.

 

“I did not ask you to come here-you came to that brash decision all by yourself!” The thought of Maxwell following him into danger had not crossed his mind. Especially with all the wedding fuss- _kaffas_ , Maxwell had left his fiancée in the middle of their wedding preparations on order to follow him. Dorian rather did not want to think about that.

“It is unwise to raise your voice in a place such as this, Dorian.” Saar attempted to placate the mages, stepping in between them.

 

“No-no Saar, I think it's time I let our dear Inquisitor know what is going on, yes? Since he was stupid enough to decide to come along on this merry adventure!”

Maxwell looked at him expectantly, like a mother might look at an erring child-and it made Dorian's blood boil with anger.

 

“I,” he began, attempting to control his ragged breathing, “I am being hunted down by slavers, because I have been...dismantling their businesses.”

 

“Maker's _breath_.” Maker's breath indeed. Maxwell's expression slackened, his eyes went wide as saucers-and Dorian saw it all happen as though time itself had slowed.

“Isn't slavery legal in Tevinter?”

 

“Yes, but it is not so in Ferelden-or the Free Marches! I have-I had contacts in the Marches and Orlais but I fear that it's all gone to absolute _shit_.”

His contacts had gone silent months ago-even before he started running, and when he did run, he dared not attempt to actually try to reach them. For all he knew, they could all be long dead by now.

 

“You...so all that about changing Tevinter...Andraste mother of mercy...” Maxwell had gone pale, Dorian could have laughed.

“Yes. I could have gone for something more subtle, but you know how it's not really my style.”

 

Maxwell was, possibly, about to throw up.

“Did you say you had contacts in the Marches? Is it _Varric_? Is Varric _your contact_? I knew that bastard was up to something when he left!” Maxwell clutched his staff for support, “Did...did everyone know about your _righteous_ quest?”

 

Dorian could not answer him. It certainly could be Varric-although he had been under the assumption that he had been corresponding with an elf that went by _'F'_ , and that was about it. '

“If it turns out to be Varric, I'll be just as surprised as you are, Inquisitor.” If it did ever turn out to be Varric, Dorian might just throttle the dwarf on sight.

 

“Now,” said Alis, “If your little lover's tiff is over-we should get going.”

Alis again walked ahead, glancing back at Saar every so often, who walked behind Dorian and Maxwell.

 

“We go to the Vyrantium safe-house.”

“Right you are, Saar.” Saar grunted Dorian a response.

 

“Then I must again be confined.” Tevinter was not the best place for a Tal-Vashoth, or any Qunari. The ones in the cities were little more than beasts of burden-worse off even than the elvhen.

“It will only be for a short while. Until I get the business with the Archon sorted.” Dorian had no idea how he would manage that, and everyone knew it.

 

He was, in all regards, walking to his doom.

 _'Doom upon all the world'_. That feeling had returned, but this time it was that much more desperate. This time he was certain that there'd be no mercy.

 

All he could do was warn the Vyrantium safe-house, warn them to get word out to the other houses, and agents. Their operation had been compromised.

If the Archon was involved in the matter, it either meant that the Magesterium had caught whiff of their activities and followed their trail-no doubt left by some failed operation, or by some careless agent, or it meant that someone on the inside had betrayed them.

 

Either way, it would not end well. Not for him at least.

“It is my hope that we resolve this matter quickly, Dorian.” Saar again glanced over at Alis.

 

Dorian was comforted to know that at least the two of them would have each other, if something were to happen to him.

Much later, when his legs threatened to give out on him from sheer tiredness, he laid in his bedroll.

 

Even though it wasn't exactly evening where they were. The environment remained a constant-but they had walked for hours, and they were exhausted. His eyes burned from exertion.

This place was clearly not meant for human eyes. Yet, the inquisitor seemed oddly unperturbed-from the visual thing, at least. The mark on his hand really did do him great favours. He thought it was the mark, at least.

 

He was so deep in thought that he almost didn't notice, as Maxwell laid his bedroll next to his, as Alis and Saar laid their bedrolls next to each other's as they so often did,

“I know that you're going to turn yourself over once we get there,” Maxwell said in a hushed tone, so that the others would not hear him, “and I'll tell you that I won't, in fact let you do that. I'll stop you even if it means that I'll have to hex you into submission.”

 

“ _Lovely_.” replied Dorian sarcastically. Were Knight-Enchanters taught actual offensive magic? Aside from the magic sword business, that is.

“What exactly did you do, Dorian?”

 

Dorian realized that Maxwell really would not give up his questioning. Sighing, he turned heavily on his bedroll to face him.

He had not anticipated how close their faces would be, however, he did his best to ignore it.

 

“Slavery is legal in Tevinter, yes, but it is not so in the Marches and Orlais-and Ferelden, yes?” Maxwell nodded, which Dorian took as a sign to continue,

“So, what I had been doing all this time, was co-ordinating resistance agents to attack the slavers-the ones who operated outside of Tevinter, before they got to Tevinter where I wouldn't be able to stop them, right?”

 

Maxwell nodded again, his face grim, “Is this the same resistance as Magister Tilani's?”

“Not exactly, but she is involved as well. This resistance is led by Briala in Orlais. I only lead the Vyrantium House.”

 

It felt good, to finally be able to speak with Maxwell openly. It reminded him of better days between them.

“You must understand why we cannot let the Archon think that the Inquisition supports the resistance. The slave trade is the basis of our society-attacking that akin to the intent of open war.”

 

“I'm still not letting you hand yourself in.”

 _Kaffas_ , Maxwell was as stubborn and as stupid as an ass.

 

“Did you not hear the part where I mentioned _open war_?”

“We have an allegiance with Briala. Why did she not make contact with us? Unless Bull was keeping things from me as all my allies seem to be doing-you are close to him, Dorian, did he mention anything to you?”

 

Dorian bit his bottom lip to keep himself from cursing out loud.

“Bull doesn't know anything because it was intended to be that way, Maxwell. And what is ' _you are close to him_ ' supposed to mean?”

 

Maxwell propped himself up on his elbows.

“Did he not kiss you goodbye as we left?”

 

Dorian quite literally wanted to spit fire. Preferably in Maxwell's face. Of course he'd mention Bull. Of course. And the bloody _hypocrite_ went ahead to point out Bull's public display of whatever Bull and he had together.

“We are _certainly_ not as close as you and Lady D'Osieaux were when you invited me to dinner-did she really want to get to know me, or was it just your plan to invite me there so that you could rub your upcoming nuptials in my face?”

 

“Not everything must be about you!” Maxwell whispered, a little too loudly-as Saar and Alis both stirred.

“Clearly this was, Maxwell.”

 

“ _You son of a_ -how dare you say that to me after everything? You left me Dorian! You left me after I gave you a ring-what was I supposed to think? You came back a half-decade later and you think that I'm getting married just to _spite_ you?”

Maxwell took a deep, shuddering breath,

 

“All I had was a letter, Dorian. So I moved on.”

Dorian's mouth had gone very, very dry-and his hands had gone cold.

 

“You moved on to Lady D'Osieaux,” Dorian rasped, “you gave her a ring too, and with her a ring could actually mean a future.”

Maxwell sighed yet again, and lied back down.

 

“Is this because it's a 'she'? You knew from the beginning what I was. I never hid the fact that I liked women too from you.”

Dorian listened as Saar and Alis shifted uncomfortably in their bedrolls. The two of them had jeard the whole thing, he was certain.

 

“I'm...Dorian, I'm content with her.” Maxwell was looking at him again, “And you seem...content with Bull-you wouldn't have gone back to him otherwise.”

“I'm not in love with him, if that's what you think.” He was not in love with Bull. Not to the extent that it had been with Maxwell.

 

“I don't think anything Dorian. Just-he's good, right? You two are good together. He's good for you.”

Dorian couldn't muster a reply. He and Bull looked good together, according to Maxwell. Then again, Maxwell still had naive ideals about love, so naive that he had gone so far as to...propose, if he could call that mockery a proposal.

 

 _'It doesn't have to mean anything you don't want it to mean, Sugar.'_ he'd said, _'I however, wanted to be a symbol, for us, because you mean a great deal to me-Dorian I lo-'_

 

Dorian crushed the memory before he could remember it in its entirety. What could he have possibly done with a ring?

He only hoped he could live long enough to answer himself that question.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter up!  
> They just can't seem to get along, can they? ;)
> 
> Anyway-sorry if the formatting is strange by the way. I'm really not sure what's going on with the RT editor on my PC. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	8. Dorian Pavus is Like Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “After you left,” Maxwell stirred uncomfortably, “after you left, I used to go to the library and sit in your chair for hours-no one dared approach me in my melancholy, until her.”

There was no such thing as time in the Crossroads, there was only an ever present hum of the fade in the background-a hum, it was a song, even.

Then of course, there were also the whispering things that hid in the Eluvians, sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, Dorian could see things moving in the reflections.

 

He hated the damned place and he wanted to leave as soon as possible, but with every step, he felt like they were only moving slower.

 

“How much farther, Alis?”

 

The elf shrugged, as she distributed what was left of their food into four packs “Hard to tell. Haven't been here in a while.”

 

“ _Alis._ ”

 

Alis grinned, “relax Dorian, you'll be the first one out the mirror, I swear!”

 

It was hardly a satisfactory response-as it oft were with Alis, but nonetheless he did not doubt her. She wanted to get out of the Crossroads as soon as possible. They all did, before the shadows in the Eluvians got them.

 

Dorian sighed, rested his back against the wall and closed his eyes, to shield them from the blurring pain. At lest the small ruin that they were resting in was offering some form of shade-shade from the perpetual twilight.

 

He wondered, if the place had been a house once-a château, maybe, if elves even had châteaus. It was hard to tell, all that was left of it were the foundations and a few of the outer walls, crumbling, and looking as if they were fragile to the touch.

 

All he had to look forward to, it seemed-aside from the men that chased them, the demons that surrounded them, and the Archon that awaited him in Tevinter, were the times when they just stopped and rest. It felt like a semblance of normalcy, despite the fact that he had no concept of time in the place.

 

It wasn't long before they had settled into a sort of cycle. They walked, they made camp. Saar and Max would practice-no magic, just basic movements-and he and Alis would sit together and watch as the former Qunari and the Inquisitor danced around each other with their staves.

 

That was what magic was, really. It was a dance. Saar and Maxwell had been at it for quite a while, and Dorian could almost forget how much tension was between them,

 

Maxwell looked jovial. The movements came as naturally to him as breathing. Saar, on the other hand, had as much grace to him as a three-legged Druffalo. He struggled even with simple movements, as was expected, Dorian supposed, form a man formerly confined to living in his life in irons.

 

“Your parry is too high, Saar!” Maxwell thrust his staff, the blade easily cutting into Saar's throat had Maxwell intended it to, “Unless you are faced with a Qunari mage-in which case, well done!”

 

Saar grunted, and swung his own staff as if it were a great battleaxe. The Tal-Vashoth had very little patience when it came to the intricacies of the great dance.

 

“That's good!” said Maxwell, barely avoiding getting his teeth smashed in by the sheer force of Saar's blow, “Arms relaxed, and aim low!”

 

Saar swung his staff again, and Maxwell barely had time to block-Saar's greater strength had him on his knees almost immediately.

 

“You're fast for someone so large.” Maxwell grunted the words. The Inquisitor, at this point in any other circumstance, would have used magic. With the veil so weak around them, he dared not risk it.

 

Maxwell released his grip on the staff, and it fell with a loud clang on the ground. Saar held out a hand for him to take, which Maxwell accepted.

 

 

“Force,” he panted, dusting himself off, “is your best fit, Saar. If your magic is anything like your fighting.”

 

Maxwell picked up his staff, and took position once more, “Again, Saar-with all the force you can muster!”

 

A split lip and two broken ribs later, Maxwell more than a little regretted his words. Dorian, like he always had done many times before, fussed over him.

 

“ _'All the force you can muster'_ he said. If Saar had gotten you with all the force he could muster you'd be a steaming pile of ash right about now!” Tending to Maxwell's injuries as he was, was like stepping into an old half-remembered memory.

 

“I'm so glad you're here to take care of me, then.” Dorian bit down on his bottom lip, hard. It was easy to joke now, but the arguments between them still lay gaping, like an open wound that would sting when prodded. Yet here Maxwell was, as if it were five years ago and they were still lovers, and as if Dorian had accepted _that ring_.

 

“I could turn you into a steaming pile of ash too, should I so desire, Maxwell.” Dorian said haughtily. Or a close attempt at haughtily, anyway.

 

“Would you really? Then you'd have the Inquisition chasing you as well as the Archon.” Dorian dabbed the damp cloth he'd been using to clean Maxwell's injured lip just a little harder than was necessary.

 

“I have always been rather popular-I am stunningly flawless, after all.” Maxwell laughed,

 

“I cannot argue that.” Maxwell grinned at him, laying on Dorian's bedroll, looking at Dorian through half-lidded eyes.

 

They carried on in a few instances of silence, before Dorian-biting hard on his bottom lip again-a nasty anxiety acquired habit, had to ask.

 

“Why did you come with me?”

 

“Why do you think?”

 

Dorian put the cloth down.

“It can't be because...because you feel things for me. You love Lady D'Osieaux.” He felt rather like he was being stupid, saying it all out loud.

 

“After you left,” Maxwell stirred uncomfortably, “after you left, I used to go to the library and sit in your chair for hours-no one dared approach me in my melancholy, until her.”

 

Dorian could not look directly at Maxwell. The library. Of course. They had spent a long time there together after all.

 

“She was-she is very kind, very gentle. She is the best of us all, and I do her a great disservice by marrying her.”

 

Dorian's mouth went very, very dry. He bit so hard down on his lip that he could taste blood.

 

“I care for her, yet...” Maxwell paused, and closed his eyes, “for a long time I wished that it were you who I were to marry, foolish and improbable as it is.”

 

Dorian's hands began to tremble. This was impossible. He couldn't possibly be hearing this. Surely it was a demon, and not Maxwell whom was before him now.

 

“With time, it began to pass. The wound healed and I thought with each passing day that I would be happy again, somehow. Even without you-but then...” Maxwell swallowed, hard, “When I saw you again….it was like waking up from a long sleep. Everything came into focus again, and all I could see was you.”

 

Dorian breathed as though he had been running. His palms were sweating. His body urged him to lean forward and kiss Maxwell-if only to silence him-the sensation made worse when Maxwell grasped Dorian's shaking hands with his own, larger ones.

 

“I think Adelina knows it too. She knows the I still...she knows that there is still a lot of you that I carry with me. That's why she so wanted to meet you-to see us together. She wanted to see if I were any different when you are around. I am. I am, because you are...consuming, Dorian. Like a fire that does not go out.”

 

Dorian pulled his hands out of Maxwell's, and in a motion, was on top of him, the entire lengths of their bodies touching.

 

The way he kissed Maxwell, was hard and primal. Teeth, pain, nails digging into skin and hair being pulled.

 

The taste of it, the pleasure, the heat...Dorian wanted to be held in the moment, and never have to experience anything again.

 

“Were you ever planning to come back to me, Dorian? Did you not miss this?” Maxwell panted, digging his nails into Dorian's scalp-the sensation of it drawing out short, urgent gasps from Dorian.

 

“Yes, yes. Of course I did.”

 

Maxwell had the other mage underneath him, with the minimal effort that came from a practised motion.

 

“Open your legs, _sugar_.” The term of endearment made Dorian's face hot, as he immediately obeyed-eager to have Maxwell on him-hips grinding, hands re-familiarising.

Yes, yes he had missed this greatly-so much so that he dared not think of it. There was no one like Maxwell. There would never be.

 

 

Alis' scream cut through the haze of arousal.

 

Maxwell was off of him in a flash, like lightning grabbing his staff from near the bedroll. Dorian had barely time to react before a flash of searing mage fire was flung at him.

It seemed, that the Archon's men had finally caught up to them.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was about damn time we got to see some mage on mage action, amirite ;) ?


	9. Dorian Pavus: A Man Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Maxwell died, Dorian would have to tell Lady D'Osieaux that her beloved was dead, and that it was all his fault, because Maxwell had died to protect him.

It felt like old times, as they fought. The movements came easy as they moved together-parry, strike, magic flowing as easily as water, as light as air.

 

Dorian dodged another bolt of lighting, as Maxwell, standing firm beside him retaliated with a blast of raw magic from his staff so strong that the thing almost shattered, like glass, even though it was hewn from metal.

 

Dorian, distracted by this new, savage way in which Maxwell was throwing himself into battle, did not notice a blast of ice-squarely aimed at his head.

Maxwell, moving on instinct, slammed himself into Dorian-the both of them narrowly missing the icy shrapnel as it soared past them.

 

Maxwell and Dorian landed behind the wall that just a few moments ago they had been close to _rutting_ in, Maxwell pinned him to it-seemingly oblivious to the constant assault of the Archon's thugs who were currently being occupied by Saar's rudimentary, yet destructive magical onslaught, and Alis' daggers.

Maxwell grunted on top of him, clearly in pain-and not just from the injuries that he had sustained from sparring with Saar.

 

They had not fully dodged the shrapnel, Dorian realised with a rising, shrill sort of panic. Maxwell was injured, bleeding.

 

“You're injured!” Dorian's words came louder than the noise of battle around them.

 

Maxwell urgently clamped a hand over Dorian's mouth, silencing him.

 

“Listen to me, Dorian.” Dorian did not want to listen to him at all, as a sense of foreboding filled him-a sense even stronger than the immediate danger around them.

 

“Take Alis and run,” Dorian began struggling against Maxwell's restraint, immediately ready to refuse such a notion, “no-no-don't argue with me now. Take Alis, and run. Saar and I will distract them as best we can.”

 

Dorian wanted to smack him-kick him-yell at him. He wanted to remind him of the idiocy of what he was suggesting-as if he could let the Inquisitor die here in the Crossroads! Ans what of Saar? Alis would die of a broken heart if she lost him.

 

“We'll catch up, I promise, Dorian.” Maxwell looked at him intensely, as though he wished to remember every detail of his face, before suddenly and swiftly he rose off of Dorian, and threw himself among the Archon's men and into battle.

 

Dorian, not allowing himself pause to feel, looked for Alis-he spotted her fighting by Saar's side, as he's expected.

He ran for her-blocking a barrage of fire as he did, felling two men and injuring two more as he cleared a path for himself, in order to reach Alis.

 

It was as though there was an entire legion upon them-men with staves and men with swords, at least thirty strong, able to sneak up on them granted to them by their ability to harness the Eluvians.

 

He grabbed the elf, “Run Alis, run!”

 

He managed to pull her away from Saar by sheer force of will, as she struggled against him.

 

“What are you doing? Let me go we have to help them!” Still, Dorian's grasp on her did not waver.

 

“Maxwell has a plan- _run_ Alis!”

 

Alis, torn between Saar and Dorian, ran forward while still looking back, she screamed in alarm-men were following them, at least five of them had broken off the main group and were now pursuing them.

 

They ran, and ran-parry, parry, strike. Expertly aimed spells and daggers, faster than a man could blink took out their assailants.

 

They dropped like flies, really. No challenge at all, really. Now, if only he could control his breathing-and his shaking hands.

 

He was so nauseated that he barely registered his surroundings. They were in a clearing, yes? Some sort of a forest? Could vegetation actually grow in a place such as this? The trees all looked dead, and there were certainly no creatures of the forest inhabiting them.

 

“I found one Dorian!” Dorian turned-the movement so fast that it made his stomach churn even more, to see Alis standing next to an active Eluvian-one of the few that were left that would actually lead them to a desired destination, and not a pit full of demons, or undead-or dragons, or whatever other horrors haunted the mirrors.

 

How Alis could tell one from the other, he did not know.

 

Dorian could have laughed at their twisted, ugly wretched luck. Now they found it. Now that Saar and Maxwell were left behind as good as dead-even though Maxwell had promised, Dorian did not dare hope.

 

If Maxwell died, Dorian would have to tell Lady D'Osieaux that her beloved was dead, and that it was all his fault, because Maxwell had died to protect him.

 

“Is it functioning?” Dorian couldn't even recognize his own voice. Everything inside him was telling him to go back for Saar, and Maxwell. It is what the Inquisitor would have done-what anyone with any sort of decency would have done.

 

Dorian could see his fearful, pale expression in the swirling depths of the mirror, and truly, he was sickened.

 

“Yes it is. Let's go. Let's just go.” Alis grabbed at him, her face stained with tears.

 

If Saar died, it would be his fault.

If Maxwell died, his guilt would be overwhelming, and he'd gladly throw himself to the Archon's mercy.

 

“We have to wait for them Alis.” Alis' grip tightened on his arm, and she pulled him even harder to the Eluvian.

 

 

“They're dead.” Her voice was so small, so quiet when she talked, that it did not ound like her at all. Like him, she did not dare hope for more. Not usually, not with the life she'd had.

 

“We have to wait Alis. They could come back.”

 

Alis shook her head-she said in words what Dorian himself was feeling.

 

“There were so many of them Dorian. There is no way that they could have survived.” Alis did not let go of him. Her nails dug in the pallid skin of his arm.

 

“Stay alert Alis, they could be here any moment.” He didn't know himself, if he referred to Saar and Maxwell returning victorious, or the Archon's thugs coming to finish them off.

 

Alis and him stood in the clearing for what felt like hours, yet the silence never broke, until Dorian-mindful of Alis as she was unsteady on her feet, picked her up into his arms and carried her to the very edge of the clearing. The trees, dead and black as they were, would at least offer them some semblance of cover as they waited.

 

There was little they- _he_ could do now. He thumped down heavily next to Alis, his entire self aching from the fighting, and the running. He looked at the elf, who still looked at him with despondent eyes.

 

“Come here.” he said, opening his arms to offer embrace-something that would offer little comfort, but it was all he had.

 

She climbed onto his lap, and he cradled her like a child as she sobbed-tears that came from a deep place that she usually kept hidden.

 

As her sobs subsided, she drifted off to sleep.

 

Dorian had to wrestle with himself to keep awake. In case they would come now. In case Maxwell and Saar had survived.

 

It felt like hours, days. It felt like an entire life-age, before he spotted movement in the opposite end of the clearing, from which himself and Alis had come.

 

He shook Alis awake.

 

“What is it?” her voice was instantly alert, her daggers in hand, ready to strike.

 

“Stay here.” he told her, knowing that she would not listen to him.

 

He approached the Eluvian at the centre of the clearing, an arm outstretched before the elf, ready to push her out of danger at a moment's notice.

 

His eyes-damn the Crossroads, could not make out what or who it was. Alis however, with a cry sounding so loud that it hurt his ears, broke into a dead run towards the movement.

 

It could only mean...surely it couldn't be. Dorian ran. Dorian ran hard enough to make his sides burn.

 

Dorian's eyes went to Saar first, who was on the ground, unconscious, then his gaze met with Maxwell's eyes, and Dorian felt as though he could not breathe. The man was covered in blood, and Dorian couldn't tell who it belonged to.

 

“I think Saar is hurt.” Maxwell said, before collapsing.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay so there were no kisses in this chapter-but I promise, we will get to see some soon enough!  
> Also, thank you all for your lovely comments! You're all flawless and amazing, let it be known :)


	10. Dorian Pavus Can't Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian, with the way his senses were heightened by apprehension, could make out Maxwell's faint, faint breath-and Saar's quiet grunts of pain, he could feel everything about him down to the dust that had embedded itself underneath his fingernails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things before we begin: 
> 
> 1) Yes, two chapters in one day! Why? Because I'm bad at the whole 'delayed gratification' thing.  
> 2) I am aware that I have like, 7 million or so typo's in the text, this will be fixed as soon as I have time to edit properly, in the meantime, thank you all for being so kind and patient.  
> Thank you and enjoy!

Dorian had to drag both unconscious men through the mirror, all the while attempting to quell the alarm screaming in his head.

 

Saar groaned and grunted when Dorian had made attempts to move him, yes, the sounds came out as an indication that the great _somewhat_ -horned mage was in pain, yet they were welcome. It meant that he was still alive and breathing-yet Maxwell did not even stir.

 

Maxwell sagged, limbs limp and lifeless, into Dorian's arms, his feet dragging on the ground, leaving tracks.

 

“Alis-Alis, light the braziers. And fetch Pelagius!” The Vyrantium safe-house, as it turned out, was actually more of a wine cellar-or basement, depending on which terminology one preferred to use. Dorian personally felt that it was more of a tomb.

 

A tomb, underneath a florist in the Vyrantium slums, or a herbalist. Whatever the shop was. Dorian couldn't think clearly.

 

It was dark, and dank, and so humid that it made his lungs heavy-and the Eluvian was still open behind them.

 

Breathing deeply, he sealed it-with the Archon's men dead, he hoped the danger was over, at least for now. Or so he sincerely hoped.

 

His attention now was entirely focused on Maxwell. Alis could handle Saar by herself right? No. No of course she couldn't. What was he thinking? Was he even thinking?

 

He was afraid. The same fear that had haunted him when he'd fallen into the rift before Maxwell at Adamant, or when he had been so certain that Maxwell would be the one who drank from the Well of Sorrows.

 

It was the same fear he had felt when Maxwell had given him the ring. That ring that he'd said had belonged to his father. That ring that he was sure had meant a lot to Maxwell, more so than the Inquisitor would let on, because he had been afraid of scaring him away.

 

And to think, that until now, he had thought that he only feared losing Maxwell to ordinary things. No. No. Dorian feared loss under any circumstance.

 

He knelt by Maxwell's side, and without the risk of the fragile veil spilling demons onto them, began to flow healing magic, from his hands onto Maxwell's skin-he would give up his own life's essence, if it meant that Maxwell would survive.

 

Maxwell's smaller cuts and bruises began to heal, but it wasn't quick enough. Maxwell's pulse was so weak-and he had never been good at any healing magic-not that he'd ever admitted that to anyone.

 

“Maker I can't help him-I can't-I don't know-” he murmured the words-almost hysterically to himself. Maker help him. Maker help him control his fears. Maker help him breathe.

 

Dorian, with the way his senses were heightened by apprehension, could make out Maxwell's faint, faint breath-and Saar's quiet grunts of pain, he could feel everything about him down to the dust that had embedded itself underneath his fingernails.

 

He could hear Pelagius' and Alis' urgent voices, their footfalls causing the old wooden staircase that led from Pelagius shop to the basement to creak under their weight. His eyes could make out each particle of dust, as Pelagius traversed the collapsed wall to the Eluvian's tomb.

 

Pelagius, and old man, with white hair and deep dark eyes appeared in his nightclothes as a vision.

 

Maker, the man was so calm. His breathing was so even. How did he do it? Dorian...Dorian was just good at concealing not being afraid. He was as cowardly as any, in reality.

 

“Son, let me help you.” yes, yes Pelagius, would help him. He stepped away from Maxwell.

 

“Attend to Saar, Dorian. His wounds are less grievous.” Dorian moved automatically, toward Saar-to not with a small flood of relief that his eyes were open, and with a small flood of horror, that where one of his horns was-or the stump that had once been a horn, had been, there was now a gaping wound.

 

“Saar-Saar how are you feeling?” Alis had Saar's hand in her own, minuscule one-minuscule in comparison.

 

“I am injured,” he said, his mouth taut with effort, “therefore I hurt.”

 

“Dorian will take care of it, right? You can make the horn grow back or something with your magic bullshit or something?”

 

In another circumstance, Dorian would have retaliated at her jibe-and perhaps that was why she mocked him even now, because she wanted to distract him.

 

Maxwell is dying. Maxwell could be dead. Dorian had to concentrate on Saar's injuries and hope in Pelagius.

 

The old man was a seasoned healer, that was why Tilani had recruited him, right? The fact that he had access to an Eluvian from his basement might have influenced matters, too. But Dorian had to hope. He had to hope just a little.

 

“I cannot promise to restore your horn, Saar. I can only restore flesh, I'm afraid.” Dorian, kneeling next to him, let the healing magic begin to flow again-and Saar's wounds, thankfully, healed quickly and cleanly.

 

“Well shit, I fucking hate you magical assholes,” Alis said, panting as though she had greatly exerted herself, “but I also love you, you know?”

 

“I know.” Dorian offered a small smile.

 

“I don't mean in the _'I want you to bend me over your staff while you ravish me with your littler staff'_ kind of way, Dorian. I used to. Sort of. I used to a little. But not anymore. Not ever again.”

 

Alis laughed, most of the tension suffered during their travels in the Crossroads spilling out in her rambling.

 

“I just sort of love to hate you now, you now? Like people actually love Elfroot because it heals their booboos but it actually tastes like shit if you think about it too long?”

 

Dorian nodded, and smiled, and bit down hard in his lip until the familiar taste of rust came upon his tongue.

 

This was Alis' way of adapting to the situation, yes. But Maxwell could be dying. Maker, Andraste-whoever was out there, let Maxwell wake up.

 

He didn't even want to look at Pelagius.

 

“We should help him to his feet. Get him on a proper bed instead of the floor, yes, if our host has no objections, of course?” he wanted to do as Alis, fill the silence with as much sound as he possibly could, so as to not actually have to hear it-the silence, that was.

 

He couldn't look at the older man, leaning over Maxwell. Even though Maxwell had survived worse, he could still perish. He could die in a basement in Vyrantium and Dorian would have no way to get him back to Skyhold. Not for a while yet.

 

He and Alis helped Saar to his feet-careful not to jostle him too much, the wounds of his head being their primary concerns, even though Dorian was fairly certain that he had healed most of them. Then again, however, he was no healer.

 

Together, they guided him towards one of the cots, at the opposite end of the basement to the Eluvian-what was a safe-house without cots, after all?

 

Each house had to be sufficient to hold a number of agents at a time, for rest, or healing. There were beds, food-and healers such as Pelagius.

 

Dorian pushed two of the cots together-one of them not nearly big enough for Saar, and aided him onto it.

 

“Rest for now,” he told Saar, “you rest, too.” he told to Alis.

 

He himself would venture about in search for some food. He would not look at Maxwell, he would not hover.

 

No, no. He had to move. Move or perish. Sink or swim. All those other clichés people told themselves, when they wanted to survive.

 

“If you would be so kind, _Dottore_ , where might one find some nourishment?” He was so adept at masking his emotions that he continually surprised himself. It was a distant comfort, to slip into an old façade such as this.

 

“Upstaris, loose floorboard behind the counter-and son, breathe, would you? Your friend will live to see sunrise.” Pelagius voice washed over him like cool spring water-Dorian could have kissed the man.

 

Breath, breathing-inhale, exhale, inhale. His chest didn't burn anymore. It'd burn even less when Maxwell finally opened his eyes.

 

“Thank you, Dottore.” Dorian dared to look, Maxwell was less pallid, his chest rising up and down evenly.

 

He climbed the wooden steps leaning each step heavily against the railing. He felt tired now. Fear for him came in a cycle of extreme awareness and anxiety that subsided into a void that left him almost lifeless.

 

He made straight for the loose floorboard behind the counter-food, so much of it stored underneath-and he ravenously ate by himself.

 

He needed time to think. He would take down some to Saar and Alis, and Maxwell too-because he was going to wake up.

 

Thank the Maker, and Andraste. Thank to whomever had listened.

 

He needed time to think. What was there to be done? He would have to appear in front of the Archon in a great trial. He would die. He would die leaving many things unresolved behind him.

 

Someone from the Magisterium must have been watching him very closely. It was the only way the Archon could know about the goings on.

 

Yet he could only ever recall associating himself with very few people-Alis, Saar, and his contacts overseas whom he had not corresponded with in months-and Tilani, there was also her, but the probability of any of them betraying him and the resistance was non-existent.

 

There was no one else. He had not made contact with anyone else-not his family in Minrathous, not the Inquisition. No one.

 

Thoughts raced through his head-he could make sense of none of them. Who could it be? Who could have watched him so closely?

 

Dorian, unable to think anymore, fell asleep, still biting down on a slice of bread, holding a hunk cheese in the other.

 

The following morning, Pelagius' gentle hand woke him from his restless sleep. It was mercy of the old man to do so. He had not truly rested-plagued as he was by nightmares of being chased and hunted as he was.

 

“Dorian, Maxwell is awake. He is asking for you.” Dorian was on his feet quickly, so quickly that it left him dizzy and leaning on the old man for support.

 

“I meant to-I meant to bring down food but...I fell asleep.” Pelagius nodded, understanding,

 

“I promise I won't tell anyone.” Dorian grasped the man's shoulders, already fond of him.

 

He headed downstairs, to see Maxwell propped up on pillows on a cot-awake, awake! Rushing to him,he barely noticed Saar and Alis huddled together-perhaps Alis' feelings toward Saar were softer than she let on.

 

But that was for another time.

 

Dorian stood, transfixed. Was this reality, or was he still trapped in the dreams of the Fade, lured in by some demon trying to convince him that Maxwell was well?

 

“If you must know,” Maxwell said, looking at Dorian-with a clear, strong voice, “I did it with demons. I opened a rift. I know, it was wrong of me, but the demons picked the men off one by one, and then me and Saar defeated the demons.”

 

Maxwell paused, “One of Saar's horn-stump-things got gnawed off by a despair demon, Dorian. Is he terribly upset at me?”

 

Dorian could barely speak. Demons. Maxwell had resorted to demons. He ought to-he ought to-he couldn't do anything.

He paced, slowly-each step deliberate, measured, until he reached the foot of the bed.

 

“How do you feel?” he asked,

 

“I'm happy to see you, Dorian.” replied.

 

Dorian clambered onto Maxwell, mindful of his wounds yet eager to touch him, eager to feel him alive.

Dorian's mouth went onto Maxwell's, and he moaned, deeply, as Maxwell returned his kiss with equal passion-so vibrant that it made Dorian weak all over again, in a good way this time.

 

He melted onto Maxwell, underneath him. And when Dorian broke the kiss, exhausted and panting, feeling as fulfilled as though they had just made love, he rested his head on Maxwell's chest, and slept.

* * *

 

 


	11. Dorian Pavus: A Man of Pleasure, and Something More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For one heart-stopping instance, Dorian was afraid that he and Maxwell were back to that stage of cold informality, before he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and realised that Maxwell had a disposition about him that mirrored his own-he was calm.

Dorian awoke in a bed, alone. He was alone, yes, but rested-and for the first time in a while he felt oddly calm, oddly comfortable.

Stretching out on the bed-as much as he could on the narrow cot, he opened his eyes, to see Maxwell sitting at his bedside.

Maxwell did not speak to him, he did not move from his seat-he did not remove his eyes from the flagon that he was nursing in his hands.

 

For one heart-stopping instance, Dorian was afraid that he and Maxwell were back to that stage of cold informality, before he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and realised that Maxwell had a disposition about him that mirrored his own-he was calm.

 

They were alright, for now. They were insulated in the stillness of the Vyrantium safe-house.

 

“I see you are up. That is good.” Dorian mumbled the words through a mouth that was still slow from sleep, as he sat up, running a hand through his hair-even longer now than it had been at Skyhold, that now seemed so very far away.

 

Maxwell regarded the flagon of-of _something_ green and nasty that held in his hands as if it were he most interesting thing in the world, and smiled before he lifted his gaze onto Dorian.

 

“Elfroot infusion,” he said, gesturing with the flagon, “Pelagius claims that it will hasten the healing process.”

 

Maxwell took a swig and grimaced.

 

“It tastes like darkspawn piss. Want some?” Maxwell extended an arm, offering the flagon to Dorian-and Dorian noted, as he observed Maxwell for any sign that indicated injury, that his hand was steady.

 

It meant that he was healed-or healing, Maxwell was not hiding some ailment from him. Yes, yes Maxwell was definitely well again.

 

Dorian took the flagon from Maxwell and took a tentative sip-and spat out the repugnant concoction immediately.

 

“That is remarkably offensive. We must warn the others lest they too fall victim.” Dorian coughed as he handed the infusion back to Maxwell, "As soon as they return that is. Where are they?”

 

“Well, let's see. Alis and Pelagius headed out a few hours ago-they went to see if they could get word out to Tilani.” Maxwell stood, and placed the flagon on the seat of his chair, “Saar is upstairs, reorganizing Pelagius' inventory, because he was getting restless down here. He practically begged the Dottore for something to do.”

 

Maxwell took a step back, “Which leaves us completely alone.”

 

A shiver ran through Dorian, from the base of his spine right through to the nape of his neck. They were alone, yes. They hadn't been alone since he'd been reduced to almost-begging Maxwell for asylum as he ran from house Alexius.

 

It seemed like such a long while ago that he scarcely remembered it. Much had changed, in such a relatively short amount of time. Had it been months? Merely days? It felt like a lifetime.

 

“Well, what are we to do now?” Dorian had a few ideas of what he might like to do now that they were alone, hidden away from the world, and Maxwell knew it.

 

“We should...” Maxwell hesitated, “we should talk. About what has transpired-there is much to consider, Dorian.”

 

For a few beats, the two existed in a suspension, each awaiting the other to take action, to make the first move.

 

Dorian moved first-he stood, hands clenching at his sides nervously for just a fleeting instant-a nervousness which he quelled.

 

One fluid movement was all it took for him to remove his shirt.

 

“We've done nothing but talk. We've done nothing but argue. I have no want to fight, not with you. Kaffas, Maxwell-I do not want you to hate me anymore.”

Dorian so despised this vulnerability, yet with Maxwell, secluded in the moment, far away from all others, he felt like somehow, he would not be harmed.

 

It was going to be fine. It would be fine in the end.

 

With Maxwell, in this insular moment away from everything, he felt like he belonged.

 

“You know very well,” said Maxwell, not moving any closer, but not stepping further away, “that I do not hate you-nor have I ever. Even despite...despite all _that_.”

 

Dorian chuckled, a soft sound that made Maxwell visibly tremor. ' _All that_ ' he called it, as if it had been a minor inconvenience on their part, and not something Dorian had brought on them both that had kept them apart for five years.

 

He blamed himself still-because it had been his fault, and still was. But it was fine for now.

 

Maxwell shifted-a movement that Dorian was certain meant that he was debating with himself, struggling to find the right words.

 

“Did you wonder, why I forgave you so quickly? I have forgiven you, by the way, in case it was unclear.”

 

Dorian moved to close the gap that was between them-to touch Maxwell, to feel him as he had done before-when things were still good, and to bask in the forgiveness that he still did not feel like he deserved, but Maxwell stopped him.

 

“When you came to me for protection, Dorian, I fought with myself, very hard not to take you in. I fought with myself to conjure enough strength to be able to turn you away.” Maxwell continued, as Dorian's heart beat so loud that it almost drowned out his words,

 

He was going to be fine. It would all just turn out fine.

 

“But it was all futile. I knew that there was no fighting it, that I would inevitably come back to this, to us.” Maxwell touched Dorian's face, gently.

 

“I am still so angry, Dorian, and hurt-I am only human, after all...but Maker...Maker have I missed you, all this time.”

 

Maxwell leaned in, his mouth gentle on Dorian's lips as his hand had been on his face, and kissed him gently, at first, until he pulled Dorian into his arms completely.

 

Dorian, blood boiling hot with want had no patience for gentleness-the warmth radiating from Maxwell made him moan, deep in his throat-deep, from somewhere primal within him that he usually kept guarded and locked away.

 

 _It is all good_ , he kept telling himself. _He still wants you. There is nothing to fear._

 

Maxwell guided them both to the cot that they had shared the night before, pushing Dorian down on it, and straddled his thighs, all the while ridding himself of his own shirt, to reveal the bandages that were underneath-a stark reminder of what they had survived.

 

Dorian touched the bandages gingerly-concern cutting through the heat that was welling inside him.

 

“Do you still hurt?” he asked, voice heavy.

 

“No.” he said, voice equally as tick as his, pinning Dorian's hands over his head, holding them down by the wrist with only one of his.

 

With the other hand, he traced small patterns over Dorian's chest, _lower_ , as the tantalising ministrations continued to the trail of hair on his navel-and if Maxwell followed it, _lower_ , and lower, he would eventually have Dorian-hot and desperate as he was-he would _have_ him. Dorian tensed further with anticipation at the thought.

 

He wanted contact so badly. He would do anything, he would do _anything_.

 

Maxwell, instead, leaned in-while still teasing him with the gentle movements of his hand, and kissed him on the jaw, kissed him on the neck-and then, gently, bit down on his earlobe.

 

The moan that it coaxed out of Dorian made his entire body shake.

 

“Kaffas, Maxwell, please,” he begged, voice almost weak, “please do not tease me.”

 

He did not see, but felt Maxwell smile against his neck.

 

“Don't you like this?” he asked, the timbre of his voice vibrating against Dorian's now sensitive skin.

 

“Yes, but please- _more_.” he wanted Maxwell to kiss him again, to bite him _again-_ to just touch him. More, he so desperately needed more.

 

“More?” Maxwell asked.

 

“Yes _please_.”

 

Maxwell paused for an instant, as if he were thinking-a feat that was beyond Dorian at that moment.

 

“I will give you more.” With the hand that previously Maxwell had stroking his navel, he grasped Dorian through his trousers, to find that he was already _completely_ hard.

 

“ _Ah._ ” Dorian's hips bucked forward, searching for the friction he so craved, his movements limited as he was held down by Maxwell's weight on his legs.

 

Dorian squirmed, trying to get as much contact as he could, until Maxwell, mercifully, finally began moving-he worked Dorian through the rough fabric, and as he increased the frequency of the succours so did Dorian's pleasure-and he moaned again and again, deeper, louder, needier-so loud, so deep that Maxwell removed his hand form where it held Dorian's wrists, and clamped it over his mouth to stifle the sounds.

 

“Quiet, sugar, people will _hear_.” There it was again, the term of endearment that had never failed to warm him, or his skin, or his blood.

 

He wondered what he must have looked like to Maxwell, as he was there beneath him, head thrown back eyes closed shut-hands clenching and unclenching at the sheet underneath him, chest heaving with uneven, ragged breaths.

 

“More?” asked Maxwell again, voice deep.

 

Dorian groaned in an affirmation. Maxwell moved, to the foot of the bed, pulling down Dorian's trousers with him, to leave him fully exposed.

 

“No underwear?”

 

“Never, Amatus.”

 

Maxwell, grinning again, trailed hot kisses on Dorian's thighs-again teasing him with just how _slow_ he insisted on doing it. It was too slow-it burned, it felt good. He wanted it prolonged, but he couldn't take it.

 

“Kaffas, _please_!”

 

Maxwell, finally, took Dorian into his mouth, tongue hot, and wet, mouth and hands eager to please.

He moaned when Dorian moaned, he grunted when Dorian grunted. When Dorian thrust into his mouth, he took him deeper.

 

Dorian thought he might die, or that he might live for ever in this perfect moment where nothing could possibly hurt ever again-where certainty was pleasure, and the only things that mattered were Maxwell's mouth and hands.

 

He couldn't think, he couldn't speak-he could barely even move, as he waited for that which was inevitable.

 

It was coming, the sweetest pleasure he had ever known, or would ever know was coming-erotic and new each time, despite its familiarity.

 

They had done this so many times before, yet he wanted it, he wanted it as badly as though it was the first time.

The pleasure coiled hotly inside him, spots of light burst behind his closed eyelids, his entire body tensed with the rapture of orgasm, before he went completely boneless, letting satisfaction fill him.

 

For a time, he floated in the gentle afterglow of climax, as his heartbeat slowed and his breathing returned to normal.

 

From the edge of his line of vision, he caught movement-Maxwell wiping the corner of his mouth, where-much to Dorian's cringing embarrassment, some evidence of his climax had spilled.

 

“I'm sorry-I should have warned you-I didn't mean to-” Maxwell silenced him, shaking his head.

 

“It's fine. Do not concern yourself.”

 

Maxwell stood, and Dorian thought that he would leave him lying there alone, naked and exposed-vulnerable as he was. Maxwell, however, grabbed the sheet that was on Alis' and Saar's bed, and climbed next to Dorian on the narrow cot that they would now share, covering them both with it.

 

Dorian could feel the entirety of Maxwell beside him, Maxwell pressing himself against Dorian's hip, himself hard, aroused and unfulfilled.

 

 

“I-it's your turn, Maxwell. Take off your trousers.” he made to touch him, “Don't tell me that you're suddenly shy?”

 

Maxwell halted him.

 

“I told you not to concern yourself. Now hush, rest.” Dorian, prickled with unease. This was unusual of Maxwell, who had always been so receptive. 

 

Dorian, not wanting the bliss of what they had just done to end, decided that he would not push him. He would accept whatever it was-whatever this meant.

It wasn't long before he was lulled back into the sense of refuge. They were safe in that moment, after all. Nothing could possibly hurt them.

 

Dorian simply wanted to prolong it for as long as he possibly could.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was half tempted to name this chapter 'Smut Interlude'.  
> It was a long time coming folks. You knew it was only a matter of time.


	12. Dorian Pavus: A Man Who Runs From Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How long would it have lasted, Saar? How long before he would have grown tired of having to defend it-us to others? How long would it have been before he cast me away? I had to leave him before he left me. When I received word that I had inherited Alexius' holdings...it was as though the Maker himself had given me a sign. I had to go.”

Dorian, fortunately, had managed to get himself dressed before Saar came back from sorting through Pelagius' inventory-sparing himself any embarrassment.

 

“Am I to understand that you and Maxwell have copulated?” Or so he thought that he had.

 

“Not so loud!” Dorian hushed the Tal-Vashoth, and quickly glanced at Maxwell as he slept, snoring lightly, no doubt as a result of their exertions. He gestured for him to return upstairs.

 

Dorian did not look forward to the interrogation that was to come-the look Saar gave him could rival Cassandra's any time,

 

“Yes,” Dorian said, before Saar could begin reprimanding him, “Maxwell and I have _copulated_ , as you so eloquently put it, Saar.”

 

Dorian squared himself-chin up, rising to his full height which was still not much compared to the other man.

 

“We are grown men and what we do is none of your business.”

 

Saar shook his head, “If you were after discretion, then perhaps you should have attempted to be more quiet, Tevinter.”

 

Dorian felt a blush begin to heat his face. Of course Saar had heard. There was no saving face for one Dorian Pavus.

 

“If you are bothered by the fact that I was with another man then I suggest you find other companions with which to travel with, Saar. I'm sure the Qun would be more than happy to have you back.” Saar flinched.

Dorian said the words, unable to help himself even though he immediately regretted them.

 

It was an old reflexive reaction, whenever someone thought to bring up things which were too painful to face right-out.

 

“Whom you take to your bed is of little concern to me Dorian.” said Saar, a frown hardening the already harsh features of his face, “However...in this circumstance...”

 

Saar paused, before he asked,

 

“We are friends, yes Tevinter?” Dorian did not know how he should properly react to such a question.

 

“Yes, of course.” he answered, to which Saar nodded, as though Dorian had just confirmed a long-standing suspicion which the Tal-Vashoth had, “Have you become aware of the fact just now, Saar?”

 

“As your friend, Tevinter, I must warn you of your actions. The Inquisitor has a commitment to another, as do you.”

 

Ah, so that was what Saar was concerned about, that he and Maxwell were...adulterers of some sort. At least that Maxwell was. Dorian had made no commitments to Bull-but still, guilt gnawed at him. It had been so easy to forget everything and everyone while he laid in Maxwell's arms.

 

“The Iron Bull and I have an arrangement. We have made no promises to each other.” Saar's frown deepened still. His face looked like it was made out of stone.

 

“Does the Inquisitor have a similar arrangement with his intended?”

Dorian could not bring himself to answer him. He did not know what went on between Maxwell and Lady D'Osieaux behind closed doors-and really, he had no want to gain such knowledge, but he was very certain that such an arrangement between them did not exist.

 

“I don't know, Saar. I don't know what this is-I barely know what's going to happen a few hours from now.”

 

Saar nodded, understanding-and Dorian suddenly became very aware of him. Saar had been nothing more than chattel all his life-a weapon to be harnessed when needed and thrown away once its purpose was fulfilled. If there was anyone who understood uncertainty, it was Saar.

 

Not to mention Alis, a former slave. Dorian had never been so disgusted at his homeland as when he'd found out that he'd inherited her along with Alexius' holdings.

 

Still, Dorian didn't feel like a saviour. He wasn't a saviour, really. He should not be rewarded for basic decency.

 

“Dorian, to seek refuge in others is understandable at times like these, but you must be cautious. Do you love him?" Saar asked, voice softening, "Do you love him even beyond all things, and all others?”

 

Dorian, in all honesty, knew the answer to that question-he had known for a long time, really. He would not say it out loud, however. He could not admit it. 

 

“I had to leave him. I had to save him from his own naiveté.”

Maxwell wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, in some sort of fairytale ending that really could not exist. Not for him at least.

 

“Is that what you think?”

 

It was what he had learned to tell himself that he thought.

 

“Saar, not everyone is like you, not everyone is accepting of-of-” Dorian couldn't continue.

 

“Did you think that he would have become ashamed of you?” It was as if Saar had thrown salt over an old wound that would never heal.

 

“In time he would have resented me Saar. In all of Thedas such unions are permitted as hidden things-he, on the other hand, wanted to flaunt it! He wanted to rub it in everyone's faces!” Dorian laughed mirthlessly.

 

“How long would it have lasted, Saar? How long before he would have grown tired of having to defend it- _us_ to others? How long would it have been before he cast me away? I had to leave him before he left me. When I received word that I had inherited Alexius' holdings...it was as though the Maker himself had given me a sign. I had to go.”

 

Dorian felt like a dam had broken inside him.

Let the emotions come, let what he had denied to himself finally be revealed in the open. Yes, he had left, yes, he had taken what had been between him and Maxwell and carried it with him somewhere deep and shielded where he hoped he would never have to feel it again.

 

But, he dared not call it love, still. 

 

“We are part of things that are greater than us now Dorian. It is a path which will only lead us further away from you Inquisition. You must know this.”

 

Dorian knew it well enough, but with that knowledge came much regret. He hoped, at least that the Inquisitor's involvement with him was still unknown to the Archon.

 

“We must resolve this thing before it gets worse.” Saar nodded in agreement. It was better to focus on what was more pressing at hand. He would focus on Maxwell later.

 

As if on cue, Pelagius and Alis entered-followed by Magister Tilani, her face hidden beneath a heavy cloak.

 

“Magister Pavus, stirring up trouble as always I see.” she said, her voice clear and strong, just as Dorian remembered it.

 

At the sound of thumping footsteps, the four of them turned to see that Maxwell had joined them, now awake, and looking determined. He too, was restless. 

 

“Stirring up a _lot_ of trouble-what happened to _not_ involving the Inquisition, Dorian?” Tilani regarded Maxwell-a long look, from his face to his feet, settling on his still bandaged chest.

 

“I came here independent of the Inquisition, Magister.” Maxwell said, all the while speaking in a most Inquisitor-like manner. 

 

“Yes indeed you did,” Tilani removed her cloak, to reveal that she was, in fact, impeccably dressed, “but it was your Inquisition that offered to harbour Dorian, yes?” Tilani handed Pelagius her cloak, and adjusted the straps on her fine silken gown.

 

“How are you aware of this?” Dorian asked, unsettled. He had not contacted anyone from the safe-houses in months, unless-unless-

 

“Dorian, I think you should be seated for this.” she said, gesturing at a stool behind Pelagius' counter.

 

Dorian refused to move. A fresher sense of dread had overtaken him. Something was terribly wrong. 

 

“Very well.” Tilani said, as she sat down instead.

 

“Dorian,” she began, crossing her legs and folding her hands over her lap, “The men that have been after you all this time-they are not the Archon's men-the Archon at present, unaware that you left Tevinter. I don't even think those who are after you were sent by Alexius' relatives.”

 

Maxwell took a step forward-Saar and Alis looked at each other, eyes confused and Pelagius clutched the cloak tighter in his hands, but Dorian remained unmoving.

 

“Dorian, someone on the inside has betrayed us. Someone has infiltrated the resistance with the sole aim to get to you.”

 

Dorian felt everything around him spin-he felt ill, like he wanted to throw up. The only thing he could properly feel was Maxwell's hand on his, squeezing and grounding. 

 

“Dorian,” Tilani said, a tautness tingeing her otherwise even voice, “someone is hunting you, and I...I don not know who it is.”

 

Nothing made sense to Dorian at that moment. Nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friends, this might be the last chapter for a while yet-real life and all that. 
> 
> Anyway! 
> 
> I dedicate this chapter to you, readers-your support inspires me!


	13. Dorian Pavus: A Man Who Knows Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Inquisitor, do you think that I have managed to run this organisation solely on my good looks and winning personality?” 
> 
> Maxwell raised an eyebrow at that, “Why not, Magister? You certainly have plenty of both virtues to spare.”

Dorian braced himself against the counter.

 

“If you permit, Magister Tilani, I require some clarification.” Maxwell sounded just as unsteady as Dorian felt, in that moment, beneath his Inquisitor veneer.

 

Tilani nodded to the Inquisitor, “Of course. Speak.”

 

Maxwell took a deep, bracing breath.

 

“The men that attacked us-the ones who bore the Archon's banner, were not actually associated with the Archon at all.” Maxwell began, his hand now on the small of Dorian's back- tracing small, comforting patterns on his back absent-mindedly, as though he did not realise what he was doing at all.

 

“You are correct, Inquisitor.” Tilani's voice had still a tenseness behind it-she sounded impatient, more than anything. If it were because of the Inquisitor or because of the entire situation, Dorian could not yet make out.

 

“How do you know this with certainty, Magister?”

 

“Inquisitor, do you think that I have managed to run this organisation solely on my good looks and winning personality?”

 

Maxwell raised an eyebrow at that, “Why not, Magister? You certainly have plenty of both virtues to spare.”

 

Tilani laughed melodiously, “Inquisitor, I did not take you for such a _scoundrel_.”

 

Dorian's entire being bristled. Now was really not the time for flirting, yet Maxwell and Tilani managed it all the same. Tension must be clouding their senses or they wouldn't have been so brash and insensitive-or, maybe, Dorian was looking too much into their interaction, as he had done when the dear Lady D'Osieaux had so generously invited him to dine with them.

 

“Yes, yes,” Dorian said, “now if we could get back at the task at hand? There are people trying to kill me-kill you all, too, just for associating with me.”

 

“Of course, Dorian. Forgive me- _us,_ ” she looked pointedly at Maxwell, “As I was saying, I did not succeed at this occupation on my virtues alone. I did it all by casting us and the Houses so deep in shadow that no one would ever dare to look-lest their eyes land on something _unsavoury_.”

 

Tilani paused, as though she were considering something, “What I am saying, Inquisitor, is that my spies have spies. My whispers, have whispers. Nothing moves, nothing breathes, without me knowing about it. My Shades in the Archon's court have reported nothing from his part.”

 

Dorian bit down on his lip again. Such an ugly habit, and he would surely never be rid of it at this rate.

 

“And you are certain that they are not from House Alexius, Tilani?” Dorian asked her.

 

“Dorian,” she said, leaning closer toward him, “There is no house Alexius anymore, not with that name, at least. The family name ended with Felix. Do you think that otherwise you would have made it more than a year in the Magestirium? There is no one left that would make such an overt attempt to take you down.”

 

Dorian's head throbbed all over again-he held onto the counter so tight that his knuckles were turning white.

 

“The Proving Mandate that I received had the Archon's sigil. That cannot have been easily fabricated. It had to be someone close to the Archon at least. Someone who is able to get the seal... Someone that was overlooked.”

 

The memory of the parchment was still fresh, he could almost feel the paper under his fingers.

 

“Do you remember what happened, Dorian?” Tilani asked him, “We assumed that you had been...lost to us until my Shades in Seheron sent word of your sighting.”

 

 

Dorian tried to think back to those months back, immediately running from the men that had practically torn the doors of Dorian's apartments from their hinges-and attacked him and Alis with fire and lightning and ice.

 

How had he not realised that they were not, in fact men from whomever remained of House Alexius that chased them-Kaffas, how had he not known that Felix was the last one left?

 

He had at least assumed that Felix had cousins or second cousins around somewhere-void take him, he would not have been surprised at the notion that Alexius had a bastard child about somewhere, but to completely fail to realize that this was, in fact not so?

 

 

Dorian could have laughed. He had assumed that there were Alexiuses roaming about freely-and there were in fact, none at all!

 

When he had been attacked, that had been his first thought-some slighted member of the house is after the inheritance-of course, of course. The more he thought about it, the more vivid the knowledge became in his head-accusing him of high treason against the Archon was how they would get it.

 

It was only now that he realised this. It was only now that the facts had fully locked together in his mind to form the chain of events that had occurred to him in the recent times.

 

Knowing only made it more confusing.

 

Had he thrown himself so deeply in the Houses, and the resistance that he had...that he had simply failed to notice that anything was amiss?

 

Had someone been watching him this whole time?

 

“I tried to make contact with Kirkwall and Orlais, to no avail...” Dorian trialled off, mumbling to himself as though he were alone.

 

It didn't add up. It made no sense.

 

“I forbade them from contacting you, Dorian.” Tilani sounded almost apologetic, “I could not risk your messages being traced.”

 

Of course. Tilani had an entire network to protect. Cutting Dorian off as a healer might amputate a limb that was too damaged to heal was the most practical thing to do.

 

Dorian had avoided using the Eluvians as much as possible for exactly that same reason.

 

“It had to factor someone from the Houses, Tilani, and someone from the outside as well. If the Archon is still in unawares, as you say, then there is someone who is. Someone who is able to afford mercenaries, at the very least.”

 

It could be anyone. From the outside, from the inside. It could be anyone.

 

“I think first, we should look to our people. Fix the inside first.” Tilani was sounded determined in a way that Dorian did not. He was so confused. It could have been anyone, anyone from Ferelden, Orlais, the Marches…

 

“Whomever they are, they have the Eluvians at their disposal. They can come upon us at any time.” Saar, who had been silent-as he often was, had startled Dorian.

 

The Eluvians, yes. Not everyone in the Houses had access to those. There was only him, and Tilani, and Briala-and whomever the leaders of the other Houses were.

 

“That can only have been a leak.” Maxwell's hand travelled from the small of Dorian's back to his shoulder, the gesture both soothing him and confusing him in every sort of manner, “Dorian, we have to draw them out.”

 

Alis shifted uncomfortably in the background, “We can't go back to Alexius' mansion-that's what you mean right? By drawing them out? We can't go back!”

 

Dorian wanted to agree with her. It couldn't be possibly good for her to return to the mansion. As soon as he had proclaimed her liberati, she had left the building without ever looking back.

 

“If, as you say, they know you are here, then they surely will have eyes on the mansion, yes?” Maxwell looked to Tilani for confirmation. 

 

“We will be wiser to go to my old apartments, Maxwell. They are not far from the mansion...they will offer us some sort of advantage-being on the uppermost storey and such, yes?”

 

In that way, Dorian thought, Alis wouldn't have to go to her former prison, and the matter would be resolved and they could all go back to the way things were before.

 

“We must go as soon as possible. If they have Eluvians, they cannot be far.” Tilani rose elegantly from her seat.

 

Dorian leaned into Maxwell's touch. He would have some answers soon. He could begin to regain a semblance of normalcy-as much as he could, given what he was, and what his life was.

 

A flurry of activity rose about him, all of them readying themselves for what was to come-if anything would come at all.

 

Dorian felt Alis' hand gently placed on his, holding it briefly before she let go.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just as confused as Dorian TBH. 
> 
> NOTHING MAKES SENSE ANYMORE, DOES IT? 
> 
> Also, have I ever mentioned how much I love Tilani? Because I do. I love her.


	14. Dorian Pavus: A Man Who Has Lost All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two of them stood in the Mansion's foyer, waiting, and waiting until the sun outside had gone down and they were bathe entirely in darkness, until the darkness was interrupted.

Dorian, unsteady as he was, attempted to take in the scene about him. His apartments, as it turned out, had been nothing short of ransacked during his absence.

It was expected, really, yet it stung none the less.

 

Not that he'd really miss his belongings-not now that he had grown accustomed to living modestly, it was the defilement of his home.

 

He had survived leaving everything behind once, he could do so again, even though it made him feel as though there was no where that he belonged, not truly.

 

He did not like that feeling, the vulnerability of it.

 

And his mind? His mind was riddled with even more confusion, as though something was constantly dulling his senses.

 

“We could return later, if it is too much to handle, Dorian.” Maxwell's hand was on Dorian again, comforting and anchoring, sharpening his focus if only by a small fraction.

 

The Inquisitor had insisted that he wanted to come along, and Dorian had not made any true effort to stop him from doing so.

In all honesty, he had wanted-hoped even, that Maxwell would volunteer to come along.

 

With Maxwell, it was the closest he had ever come to belonging.

 

He missed Skyhold the same way he had missed Tevinter back when he had joined initially. It was homesickness.

 

Suddenly, he could not bear the weight of Maxwell's touch.

 

“Maxwell...I'm still confused...” Dorian paced about the entrance to the apartments-his hands moving along the walls as though he would gain understanding by touching them. They had been pristine and white once, and now they were a dull, dirty grey.

 

“I know, Dorian-but you must try to focus. Do you remember anything?” Dorian in fact, did not. Dorian, in fact, remembered less and less the more he focused on the event-especially now that they were in the actual apartments.

 

It was as though Cole had meddled in his head to make him forget. In fact...it was as though...as though…

 

Dorian felt a pain forming at the back of his neck. A strong, stabbing pain.

 

“I think it may have been...Maker, Maxwell. What is it?”

 

“I know even less than you do, Dorian.”

 

Dorian leaned heavily against the wall, fighting the fog in his mind.

 

“Something is to blame,” he said, “for my memories being so inconsistent-explain why I had been unawares for the most part of my surroundings.”

 

Dorian now supported himself against the wall with both arms.

 

Maxwell looked about the place uneasily, his eyes darker than usual, deeper and more troubled, his eyes finally looking out the window to Alexius' mansion that was just a small distance away.

 

Dorian and Maxwell had gone to the apartments-Alis was downstairs, in the kitchens, keeping mostly out of sight in case things got out of hand, or in case they were ambushed or some other horrible eventuality.

Saar had been forced to hide away back in the safe-house with Pelagius. He hated it immensely, but there really was no other choice. A mage Qunari would just draw too much unwanted attention.

 

“Dorian, we should go back to the mansion now-before sundown.” Maxwell looked insistent, “We won't find anything here, but maybe the answers we seek are there.”

 

“And then what?” They had all planned that they would go back to the mansion, yes, that they would draw out the attackers again by returning to the place, but then after that, Dorian did not know.

 

Would they...what? Kill them all or be killed? That seemed like it would be the only outcome. And what guarantee would they have that the enemy would show itself at all?

 

“And then we fight, and maybe we'll die-but at least we get to choose how we go out, right? Better go out in a blaze of glory than to sit here and wait for death to come.”

 

Dorian let Maxwell guide him from the wall and to the exit.

 

The sky outside was a sea of purple and orange.

 

It would be dark soon. The streets were almost deserted aside from those of the city that conducted their business under the cover of night.

 

Still, to Dorian it felt like time had no meaning. It felt like he barely experienced it, in the same way that he did when they were in the fade.

 

The mansion was, however, as Dorian remembered leaving it. He never did like frequenting the place much anyway.

 

The doors opened with relative ease, and in they went, he and Maxwell-alone for now.

 

“And now we wait.” Although he had no idea for what.

 

“Are you sure that they'll show up?”

 

Dorian doubled over. The stabbing pain in his neck had gotten almost unbearable-Maxwell immediately at his side.

 

An anchor, like always.

 

“I-let's just call it a gut feeling, Maxwell.”

 

The two of them stood in the Mansion's foyer, waiting, and waiting until the sun outside had gone down and they were bathe entirely in darkness, until the darkness was interrupted.

 

The two of them, from were they rested against the wall turned to look at the source of the light, and at the figure who held it.

 

“Dorian. You need to leave here.” Maxwell's grip tightened on Dorian, as Dorian's eyes adjusted.

 

“Alis? What are you doing here?”

 

Alis' hands trembled slightly.

 

“Dorian you have to go, you were never meant to come back here you ass. You've gone and ruined it now.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been like 87 years but in my defense, I had a lot going on irl. 
> 
> But now that that's all over, here I am! 
> 
> The story is near it's end, and so the last few chapters should be coming out soon.


	15. Dorian Pavus: A Hunted Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell kept on talking to him, in hushed tones that attempted to hide his urgency. Dorian felt a vague fondness for him, for his effort to provide comfort.

Dorian had never seen Alis quite so hollow. Even in the beginning when they had first met, he had not known her to have eyes quite so empty.

 

“Alis-what is the meaning of this?” Maxwell asked, his voice hiding confusion that would have been subtle to others, but blatant to Dorian, even in his weakened state.

 

“Dorian I...I'm sorry. I never meant for this to go so far.”

 

Alis on the other hand spoke in a harsh, ragged whisper, and flinched away when Dorian extended a hand to her,

 

“You feel sick right now, yeah? You can barely remember anything?”

 

Dorian could not answer. He did feel sick, his head was spinning-not just in shock, but with something else as well, like something from far away was reaching around him and squeezing.

 

“There are inconsistencies to what we have experienced Dorian. Things that shouldn't have happened-things that contradict themselves.”

 

Alis looked around nervously.

 

“You were never supposed to make it back to Skyhold Dorian. You were supposed to die before we ever got there.”

 

Maxwell's mark burst with power, bathing the room into a sickly green light, the same hand extending toward Alis, fingers tense and contorted as if he were ready to blast her into the black city itself. The other hand, however, was still firmly grasping Dorian's robes.

 

“I don't like these riddles, elf. Speak clearly.”

 

Alis froze in place.

 

“If you kill me now, you'll be killing the only way to help him.”

 

“How do I know that you are not the one who is causing this?”

 

Alis looked about nervously, again.

 

“If I wanted him dead, he would be by now, don't you think?”

 

Maxwell did not move his hands-either of them, but his eyes narrowed, and he looked to Dorian, and then to her.

 

“Talk, Alis. _Now_.”

 

The elf, like Maxwell, did not relax her stance.

 

“Dorian has had a compulsion placed on him. By someone who wishes to see him out of Tevinter-someone-”

 

“Who?” Maxwell asked, “And how were they able to get close enough to him to put a compulsion on him?”

 

Alis stepped closer to them, and lowered her voice.

 

“The compulsion was placed upon him when he got here-it has been going on for years, Inquisitor. It was supposed to keep him from ever return here.”

 

Dorian could not, for the life of him, comprehend how Alis could have been the one to betray him. Of all the people he expected...of all the times she had saved him…

 

“Who was it, Alis?”

 

“I cannot say their name, Dorian-but what is important now is that you get out of here. Go to Tilani. She'll protect you better than I could.”

 

Alis placed the candle she had been holding until now on the floor at her feet, and snuffed the small flame out.

 

“Inquisitor, you have to leave too. Go back to your people. There is nothing you can do for Dorian now.”

 

Alis reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small vial.

 

“I don't think I'll be seeing you again, Pavus. I'm sorry.”

 

Alis shattered the the vial on the ground, and the place was immediately doused in a blinding white light, swallowing the pale glow of Maxwell's mark.

 

Dorian felt himself being flung on the ground by the force of it-Maxwell's weight flung upon him also, leaving him unsure if it were also because of the blast, or if it were because Maxwell was attempting to physically shield him.

 

He was not aware, either, of how much time had passed by the time the light had faded.

 

“Dorian?” Maxwell's voice was rugged, “We need to leave here now. We need to get back to the safe-house and-and-Dorian?”

 

Dorian, on his part, felt so heavy that he could not move.

 

“I think...” he managed to slur, “It's getting...worse.”

 

Maxwell did not waste any time, he lifted Dorian onto his shoulders, like an undignified sack of potatoes, and carried him to the front entrance.

 

“Pray that no one sees us, Dorian.”

 

They did, admittedly look extremely suspect. Especially given the part pf the city they were in. It was only once they got into the slums that Dorian felt Maxwell relax, if only slightly.

The further they were from the Mansion, the lighter Dorian began to feel-not that he felt healed, but he felt better. Somewhat. Barely.

 

“Don't worry about it, I'm sure Pelagius will have something to fix you with-maybe more of that horrible Elfroot thing.”

 

Maxwell kept on talking to him, in hushed tones that attempted to hide his urgency. Dorian felt a vague fondness for him, for his effort to provide comfort.

 

Pelagius greeted them with a concerned expression.

 

“Something happened out there, right?”

 

Maxwell clambered down the stairs to Pelagius' shop awkwardly, until finally he was able to place Dorian-as gently as he could, on the cot in the basement.

 

“I leave him in your capable hands, Pelagius...I must speak with Saar.”

 

With a wave of his hand, Pelagius dismissed Maxwell, who promptly headed back upstairs where Saar had paused mid sorting herbs.

 

“Will Dorian live?” he asked.

 

“Yes, he will live or so help me.” Maxwell replied.

 

“Where is Alis?” Saar asked.

 

Maxwell couldn't bring himself to answer, at first. Alis and Dorian were all he had, There was no easy way to tell him about Alis, about her duplicity.

 

“Alis was not all she made herself out to be, my friend.” Maxwell was at a loss as how to comfort him.

 

“Then all this time, she was the traitor in Tilani's ranks.” Saar said it with a finality, and then as though the conversation had never taken place, returned to sorting herbs.

 

“Are you...will you be alright, Saar?”

 

Saar paused, “I have no place to go. No purpose.”

 

“You are always welcome to join in the Inquisition. We have mages there who can train you,”

 

Saar continued to sort his herbs, but did not answer him.

 

Maxwell decided to let him consider it, He had greater concerns right at that instant. He had to attend to that sickly lurch of worry that had settled deep in the pit of his stomach.

 

Someone wanted to get rid of Dorian. Someone wanted to kill him and Maxwell was afraid that it was maybe because he had had to do with the Inquisition.

Heading back downstairs, he watched Pelagius attend to Dorian while he explained that Dorian had had a compulsion placed on him.

 

As he watched Dorian, as he watched his face contorted by whatever was haunting him in his sleep, Maxwell thought about how he was going to have to give him up to Tilani, and how he was going back to Skyhold to marry someone whom he felt like he barely loved.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the chapter is late to come out, but to my defense, the DLC has been announced and I'm still salty about the fact that it won't be coming out on the PS3.


	16. Dorian Pavus Survives at the End

Dorian stirred to awareness, opening his eyes from the darkness that had been his dreams, to the darkness that was the basement of Pelagius basement.

His limbs felt heavy, and the pain in his head had dulled to an unpleasant throb at the very base of his skull. His mouth, however was full of the taste of something vile that reminisced of elf root. He tried to move, to will himself to remember what had occurred in just the past few weeks.

He ran a hand through his hair, long and tangled, as though he had had a restless sleep - and how could he have rested comfortably, after Alis, and after Maxwell and after almost everything else?

Alis had betrayed him from the very start, damn her, she had been playing him like a complete and total fool.

  


And there was someone out there who wanted him dead or away from Tevinter, at least.

He had been under a compulsion, his actions, his will had been not his own at all. He had no idea who. No idea who, or why.

"Pavus, how do you feel?" Tilani's voice broke through the relative silence.

He felt like he was about to empty the fold contents of his stomach, but he refrained from telling her.

"As well as can be expected," he said, "given the gravity of the circumstances. "

Tilani moved to his bedside from the opposite side of the room.

"Pavus, I am deeply sorry...for what happened to you - I understand that the elf girl was dear to you."

Dorian wished she would stop talking, he wished that Alis' name would never reach his ear again.

"Also...Dorian I hate to tell you this now, but Maxwell has-"

"What happened to Maxwell? Has he been injured? " A shrill sort of panic caused him to sit up straight upright.

The sad look Tilani gave him bode extremely poorly.

"Maxwell has left, Dorian. He has returned to Skyhold. The Tal-Vashoth as well."

"Oh. I see."

It was all that he could say. Maxwell had left. Of course Maxwell had left what else could have happened? And it seemed that he had taken Saar with him as well.

"I am deeply sorry Dorian - but there are things we must attend to now, things bigger than this."

Tilani did not mean to diminish his pain, he was certain that all she wanted to do was to distract him from it.

She looked at him, determined.

"He left you this note Dorian. I have not read its contents. "

Tilani handed him the note, and stood from beside him, intending to give him privacy so that he could read it and come to terms with whatever was inside it at his own accord.

"I will alert the healer that you are awake." she said, leaving for the upstairs.

Dorian, numb as he was with the weight of everything, did not think twice about reading it.

Maxwell 's familiar scrawl filled the page:

_Dorian,_

_I am a coward for resorting to a note, and not to use my words._

_But if I did, then I would have to look at you, and if I were to look at you I would not want or even be able to bring myself to leave your side._

_You and I both know that, and both you and I know that it would only make things worse._

_We both have duties that outweigh our personal desires. I return to Skyhold to marry and you remain there in Tevinter so that you may save it._

_Whatever you need, what ever Tilani needs, you have it from myself and the Inquisition._

_I love you Dorian, and I am sorry._

_Maxwell_

Dorian tore the letter into as many pieces as he could and rushed upstairs with a hurt so deep that only anger could save him from it .

Tilani and Pelagius looked at him, worried.

"It is useless to stand here like fools," he said to them, "there is work of great importance to be done."

Tilani managed a smirk, "Then by all means, let us begin. "

  


  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is finally done! 
> 
> I was not sure about posting this chapter but when I saw that there was some...shall we call it, persistence? I posted it. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you guys for sticking with me through this whole thing. I appreciate it. 
> 
> There maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay be a sequel on the way......there maaaaaaay be. 
> 
> Maybe ;P
> 
> (As always I apologize for any typo's.)


	17. Author's Note

Just to let all you guys know that a sequel is up!

[You can find it here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5103884/chapters/11740760)

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a thing that I am attempting to write.  
> This is what you get when you romance Dorian for the 700th time.
> 
> EDIT 29/05/15: Fixed a few minor inconsistencies. Will probably have to fix a few more.


End file.
